


Part 1: Awakening

by awanderingmuse



Series: When the Dark Comes Rising [1]
Category: Dark Is Rising Sequence - Susan Cooper
Genre: Fix-It, Gen, Magic, Post-Canon, The Five Remember
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2019-11-28 14:40:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18209663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awanderingmuse/pseuds/awanderingmuse
Summary: Even though he left, Merry still watches over the remaining five. The loving bonds that once held the six so closely together have diminished greatly since the Light left the world. Merry worries for them, especially his Watchman. When an old enemy begins to stir in the world it almost seems like there might be a reason for his concern.





	1. Chapter 1

# Merriman

## Outside Time

**[ _ An Unfinished Life  _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6T9Pb3YMovQ) [ by Audio Machine ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6T9Pb3YMovQ) **

The grove outside of time is calm and beautiful.  Merriman walks through the crisp, but never cold, air.  The grass whispers softly below his feet. Apple trees tower overhead.  Their bright colorful fruit hanging lowly overhead just within reach of the stars.

As he walks he picks an apple from a low hanging branch.  Every apple one could imagine is kept in this grove. This one is a glossy red that makes roses jealous.  Merriman’s mouth waters in anticipation of the first sweet crisp bite, but he continues walking. He has somewhere to be, after all.

The sound of gurgling water grows louder as he approaches the stream that will let him see past the veil and check in on the Watchman.  Not that Will can know he is watching. None of the remaining six know that Merry sees them. 

Nor will they for a very long time, he is afraid.  It will be much longer than Merry had led Will to believe before he can join the other Old Ones.  Blinded by hope Merry had failed to see the looming threat of further trouble looming over the earth. The Dark was banished forever, but in a way, it was not.  Certain things could still stir.

He has confidence in Will anticipating the threat before it is too late.  That does not stop him from worrying about the five that remained. Things were not well on Earth.  Things are not well for the remaining five.

As he finishes the trip to the stream he passes his king lounging by the tallest tree.

“Is that my Lion?”   Arthur asks peacefully. His eyes are closed restfully, but the image of sleep is ruined by the faint traces of a crooked, boyish smile on his lips.

The apple grove outside time has done Arthur well.  Time does not pass here as it does on Earth. They have both been here for a short time and for innumerable years.  Still, it is obvious to those who know him that this respite had done the king well. He is much more the kind adventurous man he was in youth than the gruff war worn king he became at the end of his life.

“My King.” Merry says bowing to his king.  “What may I do for you?”

Arthur shakes his head but his smile is amused.  “None of that my friend.” His tone is cheerful and secretly pleased.  “Please, sit. Tell me of the world you sought to look upon.”

“Does Herne not ride the night sky?”  Merry asks astutely. The two are forever bound and Arthur should know some of what occurs on earth through him.  In truth, Merry does not want to tell Arthur of his son’s heartbreak. Of Merry’s niece’s involvement and of the fight that is to come for the young man.

“You know the hunter does not see things as you or I, Merry.”  Arthur chastises gently. “Please, tell me of my son.”

Merry sits heavily by his king’s side, as has been asked of him.  His loyalty is the only thing Arthur has ever asked of him and it is something the Old One will always give.

“It is a sad time for the remaining five.”  Merry decides to tell his lord only of the fives personal hardships.  He will report on the impending threat if it comes. No need to worry the king over something that they cannot control.  Something that may not come to pass.

“Tell me.”  The king commands and so Merry does.  The apple is heavy in his hands. To distract himself from his words Merry invests himself in the task of splitting it in half.  Twisting the stem off, rolling it in his hands and pushing the two halves apart.

“Your son and my niece Jane were in love for a time my Lord.  They kept in contact during their youth and began a long courtship after finishing university.”  Merry says softly. “They dated at a distance while Jane got her masters. Then she moved to Clwyd to be with Bran.  After a year it became clear the farm life did not suit Jane. She left to get her doctorate at Cambridge.”

Arthur looks sorrowful for his son for a moment.  “How is he? Does he handle his misfortune well?”

“He works and lives.”  Merry says. “Eventually I believe he will move on.  It shall take time. He is like his adopted father in that regard.”

“I am aggrieved for Bran’s heartbreak but glad for his nobility, then.”  Arthur says softly. “What of the others?”

The worst news past Merry hands his king half the apple.  Arthur takes it with a slight smile. The simple sharing of food reassures the Old One Bran’s hardship will not diminish their friendship.

“My Jane misses Bran but is enjoying working on her dissertation.  She is excited to be finished soon. The Green Witch watches her protectively as she still returns to Tresswick to give the witch gifts every year.”

He does not know what to make of what Jane is becoming.  She has the protection of the Green Witch and the blessing of The Lady.  It clearly gives her great power with the nature of the world. Especially things of Wild Magic, including people.  On that too he shall hold his tongue, for now.

“And the boys?  Your Watchman?” Arthur presses.  He takes a moment to take a bite from his half of the apple.  Savoring its sweet taste before returning his attention to Merry.

“Simon is stressed.  Newly married and working as a house officer in the hospital, but he is happy.”  Merry pauses thinking of the Barnabas’ disturbed nights and Will’s lonely days. He worries for them both.

“Sometimes I think we made a mistake with the other two, My Lord.”  Merry admits softly.

His king frowns, brows furrowed with concern.  “How so, my Lion?”

“Will is, not well.  He is lonely apart from us and it is hurting his well being, his ability to watch.  The youngest Drew, Barnabas, has visions still.” Merry admits. The words coming haltingly.  “They are a mix of past and future that disturb him nightly and stick with him throughout the day.”

“What might he be seeing?”  The astute king asks plainly.  “The Dark has been defeated.”

“The reason I am returning to the stream now, my King.  While it is clear something is stirring, I am not sure what exactly is causing his visions, I was going to see if I could find out.”  He had not intended to tell Arthur until he knew more. It was no use worrying the king when there was nothing they could do. Still, Merry has never lied to his king and he never will.

“Then let us go.”  Arthur agrees finishing off his apple and standing.  He brushes the grass from his trousers and holds a hand out to Merry.

Reading the hesitation in Merry’s expression Arthur smiles friendly.  “I do not blame you for not telling me this immediately, Old One. It is in your nature to be cautious with information.  Come, old friend, and we will see what threat faces the remaining five and if there is anything we can do to stop it.”

Arthur offers his hand again.  This time Merry takes it. On his feet once again he checks that no grass stuck to his trousers and allows his king to lead the way.

The stream is not far from where they had shared their apple.  It is is merely a small trickle of clean clear water that bubbles over its rounded stone bottom.  Still it provides all the water for the grove, growing the towering trees that watch over them.

When they reach their destination, they find The Lady sitting on a large rock that hangs above the clear water.  Her skirt fans out around her legs that are bent to one side as she leans over the water. Peering down into the crystalline depths like a curious young girl.

“I’ve been waiting for you two.” Is all she says as they join her on the rock.  She is younger now, in a sense. The lines have left her face but you can still see her experience in her eyes.  She is as The Lady was originally, both young and old. Ageless and always beautiful.

Without ceremony, Merry kneels before the water and says, “Show me the other five.” He can sense his king leaning over his shoulder looking to see what the water will choose to show.

It starts with Simon at the hospital.  He’s working in the Emergency Room and it seems to be a busy night.  The mood in the air around him is tense. People are arguing, people are injured.  It’s the air around his nephew that bothers Merry most. Instead of all this feeling like the effects of human folly it seems more sinister.  Darker. The world feels the coming threat.

The scene shifts to Will.  His poor Watchman. He is supposed to be grading papers in his time worn apartment.  He has more interest in staring listlessly out his window than doing his work. It’s a scene Merry has seen many times before.

There is very little food on the shelves and books strewn everywhere.  The mail is in a towering pile by the door. There is no sign of desire for entertainment or doing much of anything, really.  Will doesn’t even keep a television.

“Oh dear.” The Lady says sadly.  “Our Watchman isn’t doing well at all.”

As she speaks the image of Will fades into the image of Jane.  His niece is on a train. Watching the landscape pass her by. The scene is serene, but does not leave the distinct sense of sadness they had seen with Will.   In her hand is a train ticket to Tresswick.

Merry smiles, to see that even living across the country Jane does her best to continue giving to the Green Witch.  Chancing a glance at The Lady he sees her smiling fondly at his niece. He is glad she has somehow maintained those loving bonds.  Through them she will be able to fulfill her part of the fight that is to come. That much he knows.

Barney is next.  The tow-headed child Merry knew has grown into a golden headed young man.  He tosses and turns in his bed. In the corner of his small studio apartment a half-finished painting of the Afnac grins menacingly.  There’s no telling what the young man is dreaming but it’s not long until he wakes.

Blearily Barney stumbles to the easel.  He beings laying down the lines for a new character.  A long-haired man with familiar features whispers enticingly to the beast.

“No.” Arthur says vehemently.  “Not that son.”

The Lady silences the great king with a gentle hand on his arms.  There is one more person to view after all. A son Arthur loves with all his heart despite only knowing him for a short time.

The scene fades once more, this time morphing into a serene welsh mountain side.  There are sheep being herded to another pasture. A long haired brown and white sheepdog with blue eyes is containing the sheep.  Her owner shouts commands to her. Arthur’s son has grown to be strong, though he is as pale as ever. Still partial to the dark clothes that make him stand out more than he naturally would.  The trademark sunglasses perch protectively on his nose.

The dog is tearing around the sheep having a good time.  For the first time in many viewings Merry sees Bran smile.  It is the private happiness of a man enjoying his dog. Still it does the Old One’s heart good to see his king’s son happy.

Movement on the mountain catches the trio’s attention.  Standing on the mountain far behind Bran is the man from Barney’s painting.  He watches Bran and the dog herd the sheep until they leave his view. With this manner of viewing they cannot hear his thoughts, but his expression suggests they are sinister.  When Mordred walks away the image fades as well leaving only bubbling clear water in its wake.

Arthur sits heavily on the ground.  His sigh adds weight to his shoulders, his features become careworn.  Merry wishes he could spare his king this trouble. But this is how it is for those involved in the Circle.  For the battle between Light and Dark will always progress, though not always in ways one would hope or expect.

“I must return to protect them.” Arthur says at length.  It is a declaration of a war king with no other course of action.

“No, My Lord.”  The Lady disagrees quietly.  Her eyes are sad for her friend.  “You must not go back.”

“The world faces great danger.”  Arthur argues. “Are you suggesting we abandon them.  Mordred is a grave threat.”

“Will is there.  As are the others should he need them.” Merry tries to reassure his king.  “My Lord, you know this is not your fight. To make it so would jeopardize everything we’ve won.”

It is a tense moment, where everything they’ve won rests on their king’s shoulder.  Then he sighs. It sounds more like a snarl but his shoulders release tension. He is at least willing to discuss this.

“How do I pit my sons against each other?  How can I let Bran fight Mordred when Bran is only mortal?”  The king asks tiredly.

“As were you Arthur.”  The Lady says gently. “When you were handed the fight between the Light and the Dark.  Your son may be mortal, but he is not only mortal. The High Magic still sits poised, ready to take him back if he proves worthy.”

“I did not want this for him or the world.”  Arthur says.

“There was always the risk that this would happen.”  The Lady replies calmly. “It is why we left the safeguards in place when we left.  Still, the risk of not saving the world from the Dark’s final rising was too great to ignore.”

“I cannot leave him defenseless.” Arthur says again, now looking at Merry, pleading.  “You understand that. It may be his fight but I will see that he is started on the right path.”

The Lady smiles serenely.  “Not even The Dark would deny a father his right to support his son in the face of hardship, nor a mentor her mentee.”

“A door will open soon My Lord.”  Merry agrees softly. It is, unusual for the Lady to go as well, but it feels right.  He sees the path that starts the defense, though from outside time he cannot see how this ends.  It will not be Will who starts them down the path though. The Watchman is too adrift in his own loss to see the threat.

Still Merry has confidence that when Bran calls the Watchman will answer.  Will can no more ignore the shepherd's call than Merry can ignore his king.  In some ways Merriman thinks Will’s loyalty to Bran may run even deeper than his own.

In that regard, if any is to blame for the fight that is to come it is Merry.  For he did not see that by greatly restricting his loving bonds his Watchman would fall into despair.  There is a chance that Will would have seen Mordred coming had he not been in his current headspace. It may very well have been better to remove Will from the world all together, but that would have had its own risks.

“We are not seers, Merry.”  The Lady says softly. He realizes he allowed his mind to get away from him.  The Lady and his king have been ironing out the details of Arthur's impending visit to Earth and he has not paid attention.

“We could not know the outcome to their choices, or our own.  Nor should we or anyone have that power. All we can do is make sure they are aware of that which is in place to protect them.” She says calmly.  “But the protections are in place, all is not lost.”

“I just hope that they can pull together.”  Merriman says. “The loving bonds that bound them are greatly diminished from time.”

“They will surprise you, My Lion.”  The king says with confidence. “Now come The Lady and I have trips to prepare for.”

“Where you go, I follow.”  Merry says loyally. It earns him a joyful laugh and Merry is glad that Arthur is willing to joke with him.  That the return of Mordred has not broken him all over again.

“We should eat first.”  The Lady suggests. Holding a hand out imperiously to Merry so that he can help her to her feet.  “I understand Mrs. Dawson is making the midday meal.”

They leave the stream together discussing the pairs impending return to Earth.  Timing is important, as is figuring out what Arthur needs to tell his son and exactly how much assistance he is permitted to give before he crosses the line into becoming involved.  The Lady simply assures them that she had a plan for Jane and leaves it at that.

“I still think you would be best off to not speak to him at all, My Lord.”  Merry says for what feels to be the hundredth time. “Let Herne handle it.”

“Herne does not speak.”  Arthur says with exasperation.  “It is through him I shall enter the world but I will have words with my son, if only for a moment.  It is a father’s right.”

“Then there is nothing else to discuss.”  The Lady says too brightly. “Which is fortunate, as Frank Dawson is coming to invite us to lunch.  I think it is best to keep our news from the others for now. No reason to concern them over that which they can do nothing about.”

There isn’t much choice but to leave it at that.  The next window to Earth opens right after the midday meal.  Arthur must leave quickly because the next time they can pass through time, it will be too late to change anything.


	2. Chapter 2

# Jane

## Spring 1993, Trewissick

**[_Atlantic_ by Sleeping at Last](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=94LH08Y1vfM) **

The train ride to Trewissick is long and lonely, but it has always been Jane’s trip to make.  Even when she was with Bran she always made this pilgrimage alone.

It’s not that she spent all her time in the small fishing village alone.  She had plenty of friends there. Including an aging Mrs. Penhallow, who she was looking forward to baking for.

It’s just, the making of the Green Witch is hers.   Giving the witch a yearly gift was a private affair, a girlish secret between the two.  Something deep in her heart knows it’s not to be shared with the others. Except, maybe Will. But her friend is long gone and so there is no need to dwell on things that could have been.

As the view outside her window changes to that of the green coast Jane’s excitement grows. Anticipation tastes like the heady sweetness of a third glass of wine.  This year feels different. This year feels like something big will happen.

She will take up residence in the Grey House while she’s in Trewissick.  Just as she has done every year since she was old enough to travel on her own, before that even.

Captain Tom’s inexplicably left his home to the Drew family the summer she met Bran.  The house technically belonged to her parents, but all three children stayed there when they were in town. Not that her brothers came all that often.

They weren't certain why Captain Toms left the Grey House to them, but Jane was grateful to the old seaman.  In some ways, she could see herself settling here. She wasn't ready to do that yet, of course. There was a world to explore.  Ancient treasures to uncover.

Besides it would be a slap in the face to Bran.  For her to settle in the south, in a quiet fishing village, after saying his quiet life wasn't enough for her.  Taking the exact life he could have given her, had she wanted it.

Sure she had her doctorate now, but that had never been the point.  She wanted to do things with it, understand the world with it. Maybe find meaning to the strange things that always seemed to lurk just below the surface of her life.

She missed Bran, but he made her so angry.  He was incredible. One of those people who’s potential rolls off them in waves.  There was so much there and all he wanted was to care for sheep.

Sighing she closes the book she wasn't going to finish reading anyways.  They were nearing the station now. She'd done this trip enough times that she could tell by the country around her.  She hoped David Penhallow would be there to pick her up as promised.

Mrs. Penhallow's grandson was a young man of seventeen now.  His grandmother had insisted that Jane let him drive her from the station to Grey House.  One didn’t argue with the sweet elderly woman when she had an idea.

Still Jane has her doubts about the wisdom of this adventure.  David was a freshly minted driver after all.

Jane sees the young man before he sees her.  He has Mrs. Penhallow's red hair and her kind smile.  He greets her shyly and helps Jane get her things into the car.

"The women are all looking forward to having you at the making."  The young man says softly.

That ends up being all he says most of the drive there.  Jane tries to make some small talk but he seems shy. Jane remembers feeling that way in adolescence and decides to leave the boy alone.

When they finally do reach the Grey House it is becoming close to time for the making ceremony.  Jane knew she would be cutting it close this year, but her gift for the witch is already in her purse.

She quickly opens the house so she can leave for Kamer’s head.   It doesn’t take long, she deposits her bags in Captain Tom’s old bedroom and opens some windows in the main living spaces to let some fresh air in.  There’s already groceries in the cabinets from one of the women in the village. She’ll have to find out who got them for her and thank them.

Then she goes to meet with the other women. For some reason, she thinks of the headland as King Mark’s head, though nobody else in town calls it that.  Perhaps it was part of a game she and her brothers played when they were children. It sounds like the kind of thing Barney would make up. Officially naming the headland after a king of old. Trewissick is in Cornwall afterall.

The headland is already busy with the activity of women building the Green Witch.  The now familiar rhythm of the making washes over Jane and she finally feels at home.  She goes to help one of the women with weaving the frame for the giant witch.

They’d been working together for several minutes when an old wavering voice says from behind her. “There you are, dear.  I was afraid David had lost you.”

Jane turns from her work, smiling at the aged face of Mrs. Penhallow.  The woman insisted on attending the making every year. Even now that she was too old to effectively build the Green Witch.  She claims somebody needed to supervise the young people.

“No, Mrs. Penhallow.  David was a wonderful driver, thank you.”  Jane says, never able to call her aged friend anything else.  It was like calling her Mother anything but Mum, impossible.

Mrs. Penhallow frowns.  The same frown she’d get when Jane and her brothers would rush into The Grey House covered in sand and grass from playing on the beach all day.

“Now, haven’t I asked you to call me Maureen, young lady?”  Mrs. Pehallow says. “We are old friends. At this rate I will have to call you Miss Drew.”

“Sorry, Maureen.”  Jane says softly, the given name feeling strange in her mouth.  “Old habit, I suppose.”

The comment earns her a laugh.  “You are forgiven my dear. I am glad you made it this year.  I was surprised you were able to get away from your forgotten tropical ships.”

“I finished there.” Jane says. “I plan to guest lecture at Kings College for a year while I search for a new project.”  

“Will you now?” Mrs. Penhallow asks, taking Jane back to being a small girl who was telling a guardian of some great imagining.

“Yes.”  Jane says.  “Oddly enough it is the same university I last heard that Will Stanton was teaching at.”

“You should drop in.”  Mrs. Penhallow says. The heaviness of time in her voice adding weight to her words so they felt to be sage advice.  “Old Friends are innumerably valuable.”

There is a weight to her words that Jane can’t identify.  Does Mrs. Penhallow mean it to be there or is Jane imagining things again?  It’s often that way for Jane. A word or item or place or person will feel like it means something.  That it’s more important than the obvious but she can never put her finger on it.

“Maureen, is that you?”  One of the other women from the village calls from across the leaping fire.

“There’s Bethanie.  I should see what she wants.”  Mrs. Pehallow says. “I will see you later dearie.”

“Tomorrow afternoon.”  Jane agrees easily. “I will bake you treats.”

“I look forward to it.”  Mrs. Pehallow says before disappearing into the shadows.

Without anything else to do Jane turns her attention back to the weaving of the Green Witch.  As she works various women from the village stop by to say hello. They talk about families and work.  Several ask after her brothers. Sometimes Barney and Simon come and help with pushing the witch into the sea.  They don’t have the same dedication she has though.

A few times Jane sees one of the women watching her.  She can never quite make out her face but it feels important.  Any time she moves to get up and talk to her though the woman seems to disappear into shadow.  It is quite odd.

Mostly though it’s quiet.  Meditative. She spends her time thinking on her wish.  Several cycle though her head. I wish you could be happy, like when she was a girl.  I wish you could know love, when she was crushing on Bran but didn’t know what to do about it.  I wish you could find meaning, like when she wasn’t fulfilled by the life of a shepherd.

See Jane’s wishes for the witch are also wishes she has for herself.  Projected, perhaps upon the leafy figure. Still, she means it in the best way when she wishes them for her odd, not real friend.  Even this year’s wish was genuine.

When it comes time she solemnly places her hand on the Green Witch and whispers “I wish you were whole.”  Like every year she feels lighter. As if some monumental task has finally been completed.

When dawn arrives, the men come in from their night of fishing.  She stands around the fire with the other women as the men make their way to the headland.  As she waits the woman she had seen throughout the night finds her.

This woman is not nearly as old as Mrs. Penhallow and though they’ve never met Jane has the curious feeling that she knows her.  The woman’s face was middle-aged and kind. Her smile maintained the brightness of youth. It was her eyes that captivated Jane though because they contained the pensive wisdom of age.

“It was kind of you to give the witch your wish.”  The woman says. “Few offer her that. It and your gifts have made her strong over the years.  Soon, it will be time for her to return the favor.”

I don’t understand, Jane thinks.  That instinct that has guided her all her life says that would be the wrong thing to say.  Instead she says. “I’m sorry but have we met? It’s just, I have the strangest feeling I know you.”

The woman smiles that young but mysterious smile.  Jane feels like she knows more than one would expect, perhaps everything there is to know.  It is a feeling she recalls getting often around her great uncle. Perhaps they are similar souls.

“It is not untrue.  You and I are more alike than you have ever imagined, Jane.” The woman says, leaving Jane with even more questions.  The unknown woman forestalls them with a raised eyebrow and a twist of her lips.

“You will understand in time.”  The woman promises. “The witch will help with that.  Until then I want to leave you with a gift and my blessing.  These were common in the land I grew up in. Now they are rarer than diamonds.  They are something to remember us by as The Light guides you into your new power as it guided me to mine.”

She holds out her hand to Jane and places a small round weight in Jane’s hand.  Jane carefully opens her hand to see a stone exactly like the one she’d returned to Bran when she left him three years ago.  It is odd, Jane had never seen another stone like it.

Once again Jane feels like she is only understanding half the conversation.  So, she comments on what she can.

“I once had a stone like this.”  Jane says looking up at the woman only to find that she is gone.  It should be alarming, but that feeling that has plagued her all her life comes back in droves.  Somehow she knows that it’s okay.

“What a strange conversation.”  She says to herself pocketing the stone.   In that moment the men finally join the women and Jane is swept up into that meeting.  The romanticism she felt for this moment as a child has not faded with the years.

Jane always wished she could share it with Bran, but always privately felt that it was Will who would understand.  He had helped with her first giving to the Green Witch after all. Suddenly she is filled with the urge to write Will, to let him know she was coming to London. If only she had his address.

It had been so long since she’d last seen him.  Many years ago, he had left Clwyd farm half way through a summer visit without warning.  They hadn’t heard from him since. She knows it bothers Bran but he never would tell her what happened.

Soon enough the time comes for the witch to go to sea.  She stands out of the way with the other women and waits for the men to carefully take the giant figure up the headland.  As the witch makes her final plunge Jane is reminder of her wish. I wish you were whole she thinks again and maybe this time it means something.

She finds herself standing at the headland looking out into the sea for a long time.  For a moment, she thinks she glimpses a large leafy figure swimming far out, diving to the depths.  Jane shivers then laughs at herself. She always has had an overactive imagination, clearly she needs a nap.

The crowd had thinned considerably when she makes her way down the headland and back to Grey House.  Now and then someone from the village will call out to her and they’ll exchange pleasantries. It is nice and peaceful.  Still, she is grateful when she is finally home.

Once settled, Jane must take a moment to put fresh sheets on the bed.  The house is not used nearly enough, but it had aired out nicely throughout the night.  It isn’t long at all until she has set her alarm for an hour before she must be at Mrs. Penhallow’s and curled up under the covers.  The stone the lady gave her lies forgotten in her pocket.

Jane dreams she is underwater.  In the vast murky greenness of the sunlit ocean.  Ahead floats a huge leafy figure of a woman moving softly with the current.

“You are here.”  The Green Witch says in her mind, somehow both childlike and ancient as the standing stones.

“Of course.”  Jane replies, but of course she can’t speak underwater.  Still the Green Witch seems to hear her anyway.

“I wanted you to come.”  The other saus. “You made your wish and I wanted to help.  But the magic of the Old Ones no longer surrounds you. I was afraid that our bond alone would not make you come.”

“I don’t understand.”  Unlike with the strange woman on the headland, Jane finds herself saying the words this time.  They are true, she doesn’t understand.

“What’s in your pocket?”  The witch asks instead of explaining.

Jane thinks nothing but checks anyway.  She only remembers the small blue stone when her fingers brush against its smooth surface.  

Not seeing a reason to hide the strange gift Jane holds it out to the witch.  “It was a gift.”

The witch nods, the movement making her face shift eerily in the low light.  “I see. A gift from one who shares a bond with you too. Though it is in her image that the Earth’s magic’s will make you.”

Something in Jane stirs.  Interest and renewed vigor brought on by the witches odd words.  Her heart knew the witch was right. Her soul kept insisting that yes, yes, it is time.  “I don’t understand.” Jane says again.

The witch reaches out then and takes Janes hand in her own.  It’s like a mother holding her infants hand for the first time.   She folds Janes fingers over so that the stone is gripped tightly in her fingers.  Suddenly Jane remembers everything. Suddenly she knows what the Green Witch and the Lady meant.

“Oh.” Jane says weakly.  As memories of the Dark rising and falling wash over her with the cool current of the water.

“Oh.” She says again, as she realizes that despite their best efforts it is happening again. The strangeness she has seen in the world and the awful stories Simon tells are all signs.

She sighs when she realizes that all the weird things that have happened to her.  The dreams, the odd people she’s met, they all led to this moment.

Jane didn’t have words for the mess of feelings and thoughts racing through her like the leaving tide.  Instead she says, “Will is going to be so disappointed.”

The witch smiles sadly but says nothing.  They both already know that while a new rising will certainly disappoint Will he will do everything he can to stop it.  All Jane can do is fight alongside her friend. She will have the power to now, at any rate.

“The blessings will come slowly.”  The Green Witch warns. “Do not expect to have her power all at once.”

Jane wants to say she understands or thank the Green Witch for, well, everything.  But a strange buzzing fills the water and Jane is jolted from her sleep. Though the groggy confusion that comes with her waking is familiar, this time her sleep related thoughts don’t swirl away like water down a drain.

This time Jane remembers everything.  She can feel the magic of the world buzzing under her skin and finally understands what it is.  She knows that the stone is of the Lost Land. That that is where Bran had originally gotten his from.  She is glad she left if with him, it feels important that Arthur’s son have it.

She also knows she needs to go to Will soon, but can’t help but want to wait.  Nothing is stirring yet. There is nothing to fight. That which has come has not moved.  Surely Will deserves the solitude he so clearly wanted at least a little longer. She can’t stand the idea of going to soon and having Will remove her memories again, believing it is the mandate of The Light.

Despite knowing, she has no sense of urgency, not yet at least.  Besides she has a pact to complete with her friend the Green Witch.  It is even more sacred now that she understands what it means. Now that she knows the exchange makes them both stronger for what is to come.

She grabs the gift for the Green Witch.  A simple brass brooch she’d found in an antique shop.  It was old and would corrode easily in the water. The witch will enjoy the triumph of nature over man made things.

Jane goes to the harbor and out to the end of the docks holding her gift tightly in her hand.  She stands at the edge of the dock for a long moment letting the spring sea-spray wash over her.  It’s calming here. Once she’s centered she hurls the brooch as far as it will go. Thinking of her leafy friend as it flies, glinting brightly, through the air and splashes into the waves.

Then, because there is nothing else to be done, Jane makes her way to the grocery to buy the ingredients she will need to bake for Mrs. Pehallow.  She spends very little time in the shop, quickly finding what she needs and then going on her way to her friend.

Mrs. Penhallow lives alone in a small house, but her children and grandchildren are by every day to check on her.  The exterior of the home was grey stone with a slate roof, just like most of the homes in Trewissick.

Jane knocks on the door and waits.  Knowing it will take the elderly woman a moment to get to the door.  The door does finally creak open to reveal Mrs. Pehallow peering out curiously.

“Jane!” She says happily upon seeing her.  “I am glad to see you again.”

“I promised baked goods.”  Jane replies holding out her grocery bags as if that would explain everything.  Perhaps it does, because the door opens all the way and Mrs. Penhallow’s ushers her in.

Inside the house, Mrs. Pehallow has an impressive collection of knickknacks.  Signs of a life well lived. Amongst her things were artworks and findings from her kids.  There were even a couple of presents from the Drews.

“The kitchen is through here, dear.”  Mrs. Penhallow says. It was a sort of ritual for them at this point.  “You can use whatever you need.”

“I was thinking I’d make coffee cake.”  Jane tells her friend. “I found a new recipe recently, and well, my brothers loved it.”

“That sounds lovely.”    Mrs. Penhallow says sitting at the kitchen table to keep her company.

She preheats the oven, greases the pan and begins combining the ingredients for the streusel topping.  As she works she and Mrs. Penhallow catch each other up on things. Mrs. Penhallow tells Jane about her grandchildren.

In return Jane talks about her family as she makes the cake batter.  Answers enthusiastic questions about Simon’s new wife Tabitha and Barney’s increasingly popular artwork.  She’s careful not mention Barney’s deeply troubled sleep.

Now that she understands that her little brother’s dreams are a mix of memory and vision she is less worried for Barney’s health.  She is more worried for her entire family’s safety of course, but senses nothing will happen for a while. Still, when she talks to Will she intends to ask him to return Barney’s memories.  He deserves to understand what’s happening to him. If the Old One refuses to help they will have a problem.

While the cake bakes they play cribbage.  It’s a nice relaxing way to spend an afternoon.  At one point some of the other women from the village come over as well.   Jane is glad for it because it means she is treated to a history of Trewissick.  Allowed to hear the accumulation of decades of gossip and village news.

It is a treat for her as an outsider.  Though the feeling is familiar. Similar to what she feels as she uncovers a wreck and learns the lost ships secrets. It’s a feeling she relishes, like a magic of it’s own.

When the cake is done and cooled Mrs.  Penhallow insists that they have tea. Jane would never turn down such a kind offer.  Tea turns to hours talking and a light supper. By the time Jane and the other women head home it is dark out.

“Will you be alright to walk to Grey House alone, dearie?” Mrs. Penhallow asks as she walks with her to the front door.  “I can have my daughter send down one of the boys.”

“I wouldn’t want to be any trouble.”  Jane says. The revelations of the morning have left Jane feeling confident.  She doesn’t know what her magic does as of yet. Only that the order of the world and in some ways of man is hers to command.

Still knowing that she has these abilities in her makes walking home alone seem very not scary.

“It wouldn’t be trouble.”  Mrs. Penhallow says but must see something in the set of Jane’s jaw because she laughs and concedes a moment later.  “Alright, you can be a strong independent woman, Love. Just call a poor old woman in the morning? Or else I will worry.”

Jane promises and goes on her way.  In the dark it is like new senses come alive.  Now that she is taking time to notice, she can feel the grass growing and the rabbits watching her.  She feels more than hears the circadian rythms of the sea. It’s almost overwhelming, yet also like something has been missing.

She sighs into the night.  Letting herself relax into this new power, this knowledge she doesn’t understand.  Jane does need to talk to Will for he will know the answers she doesn’t know to ask for, but she’s afraid.  There’s nothing but the mandate of The Light controlling if he takes it from her again or not. He could so easily make her lose everything again, believing he’s doing the right thing.

It’s not that Jane doesn’t support The Light.  She truly does, deeply. It’s just she’s not blind to its whim as The Lady before her had become.  The way of The Light might be best for the world but it did not mean it was always unequivocally right. Humans led the charge after all, magic or not.

Her thoughts carry her on a roundabout path all the way back to the Grey House.  She gets in well after ten in the evening. There is no one to disturb, so it is of no consequence.  As if on cue, when Jane steps through the door the phone begins to ring.

She rushes to the kitchen counter where the phone is kept and picks it up.  It is strange to get a call now. Not many people have the Grey House’s number, as it is rarely in use.

“Hello?”  She answers cautiously.

“Jane?”  Her little brother's voice sounds sleep rumpled and disturbed.  “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

She laughs at that.  It was clear her brother was calling her because he needed her.  Still he took the time to make sure he wasn’t being a bother.

“Barney.”  She says calmly, keeping her tone reassuring.  “It’s only ten. I just got back from Mrs. Penhallow’s.  You’re fine.”

“Oh.”  Barney says, like he’s just realizing the time.  Jane isn’t surprised. With his interrupted sleep Barney tended to sleep whenever his tired mind would let him.  “How is she?”

“As well as can be expected at her age.”  Jane says. “But she’s not the one calling me fresh from sleep.  How are you Barney?”

“I had another nightmare.”  Barney admits. “We were in that cave exploring, like when we found Gummery’s chalice, but Will and Bran were there too.  And the skeleton of Sir, Bedwin attacked us. But I don’t know a sir Bedwin and I don’t know why I’m associating king Arthur things with the name.”

Knowing what she knew now the words did not comfort Jane at all.  It may have started out as a memory but most of that dream sounded like a vision.  Would they actually be attacked by a skeleton? And why did Bran have to be involved.  Of the six, he was the one who chose to leave the fight of The Light and The Dark behind him.

Still, there was no point sharing these thoughts with her brother.  Not until they’d gotten to Will to set things right. It would only confuse him further.

“That’s terrible Barney.” She said instead letting the sympathy she felt for her little brother saturate her tone.

“It was definitely unsettling.” Barney agrees.  He pauses awkwardly before saying, “Thanks for listening Jane.  It seems silly, bothering you, now that I’ve gotten it off my chest.”

“It’s not silly at all.”  Jane says feeling guilty for not saying how very not silly it all is.  “You know we all have nightmares. I am just glad I can help.”

“Yeah.” Barney says.  Jane can almost hear the thousand complaints he’s made a thousand times before.  It’s not fair that his dreams are so much worse. Sometimes it feels like he’s going crazy and he hates it.

“I think I’m going to paint for a while.” Her little brother says suddenly. “Thanks for taking the call. I’ll see you in a couple of days?”

“Sure.” Jane agrees. “I’ll see you then.”

“Good.” Barney says and hangs up.  Yawning, Jane decides to go to bed.


	3. Chapter 3

# Barnabas

## Summer 1993, London

 

**[_Cristofori's Dream_ by David Lanz](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9wxrB41PMhw) **

The monster in the painting stares at him. It’s red eyes glow with malice. The oily blackness of its skin making the peaceful Welsh landscape into a nightmare. Every time he looks at the beast he is filled with an instinctual fear. A fear that makes him want to find his siblings and run as far as he can with them.

It’s ridiculous for an artist to fear their own work. But Barney has unexplained strong feelings for many of his pieces. For instance, the whimsical painting of a rainbow bridge leading to the sun incites a strong sense of grief in him. The fierce and stern painting of Owain Glyndwr feels like a portrait of a good friend.

Some of his artworks even feel like warnings for things to come. The one he is currently working on feels that way. The beast is familiar to Barney’s oldest nightmares but the man coaxing it to serve his will is new. Barney is having a very difficult time painting the man.

It’s not that Barney is unskilled at painting people. Glyndwr is exactly the way Barney imagined him after all. No, this is different.

He knows why the man is so difficult to paint, but his reasoning sounds mad even in his own troubled mind. The problem is that he keeps looking eerily like Bran Davies. As if he had decided to paint what his sister’s ex may have looked like had he not been born albino.

It clearly wasn’t Bran though. There was something wrong in the jaw line. The arrogance that belonged on this man’s face was closer to a perpetual sneer.

Bran wasn’t the sneering type, just aloof. Always aloof. It’s part of why things failed between him and Jane.

Will Stanton used to say the aloofness was because he was a Welshman with a chip on his shoulder. His smile would always be teasing until everyone looked away, then Will would look so sad that Barney wanted to give his friend a hug.

It was a private hurt though. Something Barney realized he wasn’t supposed to point out. Wasn’t meant to know it existed at all. When Will withdrew from the group, Barney regretted not saying anything anyways.

He happens to glance at the clock and realizes he has twenty minutes to clean up, change his outfit and make it to the gallery. The gallery that just happens to be twenty minutes away by bicycle.

“Gah.” Barney yells, grabbing his brushes and palette and all but throwing them into the sink. He runs some water over the lot knowing he’s going to regret not washing his supplies properly when he gets back. There simply isn’t time for it.

He’s already going to disappoint his mother showing up to the important meeting with the gallery director in his paint stained clothes. At this point it’s that or be late though. Knowing she’d be even more upset if he is late Barney grabs his portfolio, locks his door, and all but flies out of the building.

As soon as he’s outside he mounts his bike and takes off down the sidewalk. Pedaling like his life depends on it Barney makes it to the gallery just in time. His mother is waiting outside with a vaguely familiar younger man. He’s round faced and happy looking, wearing his long brown hair loose, down to his shoulders.

He’s still easily ten years older than Barney. So, he’s sure he doesn’t know him. Still there’s something in the face that is hauntingly familiar. It’s almost exactly like the painting and Bran.

“Oh, Barnabas.” His mother sighs once he’s parked his bicycle and finished walking to the pair.

“Sorry, Mother.” Barney says feeling embarrassed. This meeting is important. It’s supposed to be his first major showing. A collaboration on generational views of family with his mother and another artist she met at a conference. Provided the gallery decides to show it.

He was going to make a fantastic impression of his generation. That’s for sure.

His mother can only hold her disappointed expression for a moment before the amusement takes over. Her eyes glimmer with laughter and she smiles at him. “Did you lose track of time painting again, Barney?”

“I really am sorry.” Barney says insistently. Feeling as if she had gotten angry with him. “It’s just I couldn’t get the face right. It’s been driving me crazy, all night.”

“Oh Barney.” His mother says again. Her tone of voice has taken on a worried edge. He understands he does.

Barney is the resident insomniac in the family. Woken by strange nightmares more nights than not. All the Drew children suffer from recurring strange dreams, but Barney’s are the worst. Some of his dreams take place in the past and some are set to happen in the future, all his dreams are confusing and scary.

Sometimes the dreams are totally innocuous, but he hates those most. They’re the ones that often come true. For instance, he recently dreamt of an adult Will, sick with sadness. It was hard to watch until a man with a flute came and pulled him back to a path of light. Something in Barney insisted it was true, he just didn’t know why.

“I hate when that happens.” The stranger says sympathetically. The smile he sends Barney’s way says he knows he’s saving him from a motherly lecture about sleep.

Then the oddly familiar man holds out his hand. “Max Stanton.”

The pieces fall into place just like that. Barney shakes Max’s hand with a grin. “You don’t, by any chance, happen to know a Will? Do you?”

Max Stanton’s laugh is nothing like Barney remembers his brothers. When Will laughed, it was soft like a secret. When Max laughs it’s a big loud bark, like an overly friendly dog.

“I wondered if you would figure it out.” Max says still smiling. “Will’s my youngest brother.”

Now Barney is turning to his mother. Disbelief plain on his face. “You met a Stanton and didn’t tell me.”

“We only just made the connection ourselves, dear one.” His mother says ushering him into the gallery. “It’s not an uncommon name. Now, I’ve already invited Max to lunch after the meeting. You can compare notes then.”

“I look forward to it.” Max says and then the director of the gallery is greeting them.

He ends up letting his mother and Max do most of the talking. They’ve both had gallery showings before. They know what the director wants to hear. For his part, he answers questions he’s asked and tries to look interested instead of exhausted.

In a surprisingly short amount of time they have an agreement. The showing will be in a few short months. Barney leaves the gallery with a new fast approaching deadline and the promise of money if he gets the work done.

“So, lunch?” Max asks hopefully.

Mother laughs. “Of course.” She agrees easily. “We’ve got planning to do. Barnabas, you live closest to the gallery. Where is a good place to eat?”

“Do you like sandwiches?” Barney asks. There’s a great café not too far from here that serves sandwiches. Being a café they also serve coffee which is what Barney needs. A nice, big, black coffee or three would solve all his problems.

“All food is good food to me.” Max says easily. Relaxed as he is right now Barney can fully see the resemblance to his round faced younger brother.

“Great.” Barney says enthusiastically. They’ve made it out of the gallery and to his bicycle now. He bends down to unchain it as he says, “I know a café. It has coffee.”

The walk to the café is quick. They spend it comparing artistic styles and interests. Arthurian myth somehow comes up at one point. He is not sure how or why. All Barney knows is that his mother is all too pleased to embarrass him.

"Oh, Barnabas is a huge fan of King Arthur." she says enthusiastically. "When he was small he would read all the books and everything. He still includes a lot of the imagery in his art."

Barney blushes. He is not above whining about it either. "Mum. Please."

Max is smiling and shaking his head though. "Now I see why you and Will were such great friends." He says fondly.

"Why is that?" Barney asks curious, but still embarrassed to be called out like that by his own mother.

"Will was into old stuff too." Max says, his eyes turning distant with memory.

It doesn't escape Barney that Max tends to speak of Will in the past tense. As if he hasn't seen or heard from his youngest brother in a very long time.

"He was?" Barney asks. He hates to admit it but sometimes Barney doesn't have the clearest memories of Will. Or the holiday's they spent together, especially the earlier ones.

"Oh yes. I'm surprised it never came up." Max says thoughtfully. "Admittedly, mythology wasn't his thing. He was far more interested in old botany books and the like."

They've made it to the café by then. Barney leads them into the building without breaking the flow of conversation. "I do remember him carrying around a lot of old books."

"Always." Max says fondly. "Most of them were far too interested in woad."

Barney doesn't expect to find that as funny as he does.

His mother smiles at them. "I'll order for us then, Barney." She offers directing Barney towards the table she wants. It also happens to be his favorite table so Barney isn't complaining.

"I can order for you too, Max." She offers. "If you'd like. No point in everyone standing in line."

"I'll just have the BLT, please." Max says handing over some money for her to pay.

"No coffee." Barney says flabbergasted. He'd never met anybody who didn't drink coffee.

"I had to quit the stuff." Max admits. "It makes me jittery."

"That's unfortunate." Barney's mother says before running her hands through Barney's hair in motherly affection. Barney puts a lot of effort in looking annoyed by it. "This one is far too dependent on it."

"Mum." Barney complains, but taking a page for their late great uncle's book she pretends to have become mysteriously deaf. "Why don't you and Max go sit, Love. I'll only be a moment."

Barney can't do much but lead the way. There's an awkward silence when they get situated at the table. Barney doesn't actually know Max and now that they're alone the decade's age difference seems insurmountable.

He shouldn't be overly surprised that he deals with his discomfort by letting his mouth get away from him. "I don't mean to be rude." He begins and really can't blame Max when his shoulders tense. When has that sentence ever ended well?

Still his mouth has committed him to asking so he might as well finish. "You can tell me to bug out if you want too. It's just, I couldn't help but notice that you talk about Will in the past tense, a lot."

Max seems surprised by the direction his very messy question is going. With a raised eyebrow he gestures for Barney to finish his thought.

"I just, it makes me wonder." Barney says self-consciously. "Is Will okay?"

The image of Will depressed to a point that is truly worrying is asserting itself very firmly in Barney's mind. What if Barney has been having that dream because Will needed Barney to hold him over until he meets the man with the flute? What if he is too late?

Max's shoulders slump and he sighs heavily. "I was afraid you would ask that."

"Why?" Barney asks. Now he's certain something is wrong with Will. It's probably just like in his dream. It always is.

Max shrugs. "No one's really heard from Will. Mom gets letters some, but mostly he's doing whatever it is lecturers do. That's all he lets anyone know."

Have you tried getting him to open up? Barney barely keeps the thought only in his mind. It would be so incredibly rude to say it out loud.

"He always was standoffish." Barney says instead. It was true. Will was Barney's friend because he was Bran's, even though he'd technically met Will first. It was like the older boy had a hard time connecting with others. Or simply didn't want to.

Max shakes his head. He's frowning now, upset by the thoughts this conversation is causing. Mother will be disappointed in him for disturbing their guest but Barney can't shake the feeling that this is important.

"Not really. Not until he was nearly a teen." The older Stanton disagrees. "He was very friendly as a child. It wasn't till later that we started to lose him."

Well, Barney could at least understand that. "Sometimes it happens." Barney says. "It's sad that it is in your family. But even our friend group, I only talk to Jane and Simon because we're related. Since they broke up I haven't had much but Christmas cards from Bran."

Max looks at him thoughtfully for a long moment. "Would you mind if I mentioned meeting you the next time I see Will?"

"Of course not!" Barney says feeling like this is what all his dream wanted from him. A chance to get back in with Will. He didn't know why, he just knew it was right. Barney had learned a long time ago to follow his instincts when they were this insistent.

"I could ask him to call you." Max adds and he sounds hopeful. "I mean if you would like."

"I would love for Will to call me." Barney says enthusiastically. "It's been so many years since we last heard from him."

He trails off, not sure how much to say about Will and Bran's falling out. If you can call it that, Will deciding to leave and refusing to answer any attempt at communication hardly constitutes a fight. Still, it's what his family calls it.

"Then, I'll do that." Max says. "I'm sorry I didn't have more to tell you."

Barney shrugs, not wanting Max to feel bad for something out of his control. Will was always a bit of an enigma. "Not your fault. I don't know him like you, but Will's always struck me as the type to do his own thing."

Max finally laughs at that, looking happier than he has for the whole conversation. "Now that's always been the case." The other artist agrees. "I have so many stories about Will doing his own thing. Of course, he looks up to our oldest brother Stephen. So, he learned from the best."

"I feel like there's a story there." Barney says. Glad to see the man caught up in a good memory.

"Several." Max says. "I'll tell you some of them sometime."

Barney is about to protest that he can tell him now when a nice large cup of coffee is set in front of him. Gratefully gripping the cup in his hands he inhales letting the strong bitter scent fill his senses. He can feel himself becoming more functional just by the smell.

"You're the best, Mum." Barney says earnestly.

Amused, she shakes her head. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

"No, Mrs. Drew." Max says politely. "We were just talking about Will. I'm sure his ears are burning fiercely."

"We really were devolving into gossip." Barney adds, saving Max from making up a reason to redirect the conversation.

"It was definitely time to move on to a new topic." Max agrees, giving Barney a grateful look.

"Then perhaps we could discuss the upcoming showing further." His mother says. "We have an idea of how everyone paints, but what about our view on families?"

The rest of lunch is spent talking about the general topic of family. It turns out Max is recently divorced. He talks at length about how family can hurt you but also save you, as he is finding himself closer to his siblings than ever.

That brings Bran and Jane to mind. When Barney mentions the intricate network of loving bonds that once tied the Stanton and Drew families together an idea grips their group. An idea that family is family even when you're apart and hurting.

He knows that for him, the idea will snowball into something larger in the coming months. That it isn't over yet, won't be for a long time. Is certain that he will have a fantastic snapshot of the important parts soon, though.

Barney knows these things with the same certainty that he knows that Will is not well. Or how he knows that Owain is a friend. The way he knows that something is very wrong about the man in the monster painting. He just knows.


	4. Chapter 4

# Will

## Autumn 1993, London

**[ _ Syrinx L.129  _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Mg8JiFDzk4) [ by Claude Debussy ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Mg8JiFDzk4)**

 

It’s a beautiful autumn day in London.  Will is walking home from the library when the Old One in him stirs.  Forced out of a deep slumber with a strong sense of unease. Something, somewhere is not at all right. Will knows he should blaze with action, ready to stop whatever has come.  Instead he feels sluggishly discontent. That’s often how he feels these days.

He must keep his sense open.  While he can tell that something is happening he has no way of knowing what, or where to start looking.  His only option is to wait for it to come his way. Will hates that.

While the Old One waits and listen, poised as a sheep dog waiting for his master’s command Will goes on about his business. 

He walks into his building.  It’s a solid old building, worn by the previous tenants.  Still it’s cheap, as good a place as any to call home.

Stopping by the long bank of mailboxes in the foyer to get his mail, Will flips through the letters idly.  Part of his mind still focused sharply on the feeling of great looming wrong.

He tries not to feel guilty when he sees the reply letter from his mother.  He’d written her the previous week to let her know that he didn’t think he’d be able to come home for Christmas, for the third year in a row.  He could not give a solid reason for why. Not to his mum at least.

Will was trying to distance himself from his family.  They were starting to realize something was very different about him but did not understand what.  They were worried that at twenty-eight he wasn’t following the typical life patterns of settling down.  He was already getting concerned questions in his communications with them. 

It was hard but much like distancing himself from the rest of the six it was the right thing to do.  Will was too different and it would eventually hurt the others. Leave them confused and listless, with more questions than answers.  Will didn’t want to be like Merriman Lyon in that way.

When he’d seen Bran and Jane holding hands on the hillside ten years ago, he realized they would be better off without him.  Happier to live their life without a past they didn’t remember looming in their presence. So, he’d left. It had been hard but Will firmly believes it was for the best.

His leaving had nothing to do with jealousy.  It didn’t.

The letter from his mother is mostly what he expects.  She’s upset and sees through his weak excuse of working on his research.  She’s right, he does own all the dictionaries and could do his research at home.  Still, she ultimately accepts his need for space and hopes to see him in the summer.

Will sighs, folds the letter and trudges up the stairs to his third floor flat.  When he comes to the landing he stiffens with alertness. There is a hooded figure sitting in front of his door.  Is this what he was sensing? The person doesn’t seem malicious or particularly powerful. There’s a flute case lying next to their thigh.

“Are you going to let me in?”  Paul says looking up at him. The hood falls back from his face to reveal a fierce frown. 

Paul has aged well, but insists on wearing a scruffy beard that makes his mom and sisters tut.  Will knows that it probably makes him more attractive to women though. Not that Paul seems to realize it.  He’s with Will in the family’s perpetual bachelor club.

They’ve more important things to do then settle down, they both claim when the family is fussing over them.  Their siblings always sigh about the pair of them being married to their jobs.

Paul has a fantastic job though.  He’s principal flute in the London Symphony Orchestra.  Will can’t see not being married to a job like that.

“What are you doing here?” Will asks without thought.  He finishes the walk down the hall to his door and starts digging in his backpack for his keys.  It’s not that he doesn’t know what Paul wants. He just can’t believe he’s here. That he didn’t simply write like everyone else probably will.

“I would think that would be obvious.”  Paul says drily. “Mum’s upset, with both you and Mary leaving the family for no good reason.”

“Mary?” Will asks.  He finally finds his keys, pulls them out and unlocks the door.  Paul picks up his flute and follows him in without invitation. Not that Will was expecting anything else from his older brother.

“She isn’t coming home for Christmas either.”  Paul confirms. “I’m here to bother you though because you had the decency to leave an address.”

“Mary didn’t leave an address?”  Will asks. His sister, the youngest of the girls, had taken to traveling the world and bartending.  She was good at her job and very pretty, so she did decently on tips. Still, his sister was always careful to inform them of what her next address would be, so they could write.

Not that Will ever did.  He never wrote his family besides his Mum and that was only occasionally.  It was hard keeping himself out of the loop, but necessary. He had to remember that it was necessary.

“No her letter was a lot worse than yours.”  Paul says plainly.

He’s looking around the room curiously, but Will can see the concern growing behind his brother’s eyes.  It’s obvious what he’s seeing, books strewn everywhere. Open empty cupboards. Maybe Will isn’t the tidiest person, but it’s not like he was expecting guests.

“What did she say?” Will asks.  Maybe he can put off Paul being angry with him about something that isn’t going to change.

Paul frowns and goes into Will’s kitchen, looking for food and drink that probably isn’t there.  Tap water and leftover curry feeds Will perfectly well. 

“She said that she met a guy and they were moving cities so she wouldn’t be coming home.” Paul says.  “That’s it. No explanation about the guy. No information on where she was going. No estimate on when she might be back.  Is this really all the food you have Will?”

Will looks up from the books he’d studiously been putting away.  Trying to retroactively remove the mess and take weight from some of Paul’s coming judgement.  “I eat a lot of curry.” He says defensively.

Paul replies with a frown.  He holds up an empty box of cereal that had held pride of place in an otherwise empty cabinet. “Okay, that’s it.  What’s going on Will?”

“Nothing.” The response is reflexive, easy, and he knows from experience completely believable. 

“Try that again.” Paul says immediately.  His brothers body language is different. It says he is in this discussion for as long as it takes.  He walks back into the living room and sits in the chair Will just cleared of books, flute case resting next to his feet and stares at Will.

“I don’t understand what you want.”  Will says plaintively. Perhaps if he appears to be an overstressed whiny little brother Paul will go away.  Then he can start working on real problems, like whatever woke the Old One in him or what happened to Mary.

Paul stares at him clearly unimpressed.  Will returns the stare with an identical expression.  He stops trying to hide the mess and settles for standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.  Useless anyways, now that Paul has seen it.

“Does it have to do with whatever happened the winter you turned eleven?”  Paul asks candidly.

Will must show his shock at the blunt question because Paul smiles.  “I guess you forgot that you told me some of it.”

Will had, well not forgotten, but it had never occurred to him that Paul would see deeper than face value.  Paul is still talking.

“That’s not all you don’t know though, Will.  See what you told me scared me. So, I wrote Stephen.”

Will’s eyes widen with that piece of news.  He’d never suspected Stephen’s questioning all those years ago had been driven by anything other than a brother concerned for his smallest sibling.  Remembering what he’d tried to lead Paul to believe the winter he turned eleven. No wonder Steve had been unable to hear what Will was saying over his belief that Will was involved in diamond smuggling.

Paul’s smile is tight now, more worried than ever.  “Yes, you see where I’m going with this. Stephen said he’d talk to you when you went fishing that following year when he was on leave.  When you all came back home he laughed the whole thing off as a really weird winter.”

The urge to pinch himself is strong.  Will doesn’t want to wipe anyone else’s memories.  That road of action has already taken far too much from Will.  Still if he must he will.

“That blew my mind, Will.” Paul says.  “Stephen’s my big brother too and for him to just forget that we were worried about you.  It made him seem so vulnerable. I had no idea what could do that to somebody. Especially somebody who was such a titan in my mind.  I asked if he hit his head and he laughed and asked why.”

Paul looks at him pointedly and Will knows Paul knows.  He might not understand what it all means but he knows. “They say I’m a genius Will.  Oh, sure, a musical genius but all that means is I’m really good at recognizing patterns.”

“Paul don’t.” Will interrupts.  He doesn’t want to do this. He wants to let his family live in peace.

“Not going to say what you think I am, Will.” Paul promises, but Will honestly has no idea what to expect right now.  All the knowledge of an Old One can’t tell him what people will do. That’s what free will is for.

“I realized that confronting you would end in what ever happened with Stephen.  So, I’ve sat back. I’ve watched. I’ve come to a few conclusions. The most important one is that whatever was going on, you had a handle on and I didn’t need to know.  I still don’t need to know what you’re into or what it makes you.”

Then Paul frowns and he looks furious.  “But this?” His brother gestures to his living space, to the letter from their mother and to the empty cereal still sitting on the counter.  “This is definitely my business and it’s completely unacceptable.”

“Paul, you don’t understand.” Will says slowly.

“I do.” Paul snaps back.  “I must be insane for thinking it, but I know.  You’re something out of the oldest myths. A modern Merlin or something, with the power to remove memory.  Fine, I don’t care. You’re dying here Will. Oh, sure you’re not sick but that kitchen belongs to a dead man.  The withdrawing is the action of someone who has given up.”

Will retreats to the window.  Surprised and overwhelmed by Paul’s vehemence.  He doesn’t understand.

“You might not need help with whatever it is you are, but what I’m seeing here is a cry for help.”  Paul says his voice softening. “So, please don’t walk always from us. Let me be here for you.”

The silence between them seems to ring.  “Paul.” Will says slowly. “This isn’t right.  People aren’t supposed to know or even suspect.”

“What?” Paul says.  “That my little brother is clearly depressed?”

That startles Will.  He supposes an Old One would be susceptible to such things.  The command of The Light wouldn’t prevent it.

“Look if the whole family is too much to take, I can understand.  Though Mom would love it if you would at least come for Christmas Eve and Christmas Morning.” Paul continues.  “You can’t shake us that easily, Will. I don’t think you want to. So, let me help you find yourself again.”

“I don’t.”  Will says dazedly. 

Paul grins at him, like they were kids still and had just shared a secret.  He grins like it hadn’t been seventeen years since Paul saved Will from the terror of a fallen sky light.  From a concerted attack by the Dark.

“Here. Let’s just.  You’ve got no food. Let me take you to dinner and grocery shopping, okay?”  Paul offers suddenly sounding self-conscious. “I’ll tell you how everyone’s doing.  I know Mom tells you what she knows, but that’s not everything.”

He should say no but the truth is Will doesn’t want to.  He knows his family will age and die but he wants to be there for that.

As if it’s a sign he gets a moment of guidance from those higher instincts he has as an Old One.  It suddenly feels as if he needs to go with Paul. Not just because family is important and Will doesn’t actually want to be a disappointment.  Rather, he knows that he needs to do this. That it will eventually lead him to what’s wrong in the world.

“Fine.” Will says plaintively.  Just because Paul is right doesn’t mean the little brother in Will doesn’t hate it.

At least Paul is pleased.  “Fantastic.” His brother says, happy for the first time in the conversation.  “We can go to your favorite place, wherever that is. Do you mind if I leave my flute here?  I don’t really want to carry it around with me.”

“Sure.” Will says.  “Do I really get to choose where we’re going?”

“As long as it’s not curry.” Paul agrees.  “It sounds like you’ve had far too much curry and Mum would have a fit if she knew I took you for more.”

Will thinks a minute and then grins mischievously.  “So, fish and chips is a viable option?”

Paul groans and sets his flute a little more out of the way.  “Yes, you monkey, fish and chips would technically be an option.  I am however going to have to make you buy some vegetables.”

Will laughs accepting the unspoken challenge.  It’s so easy to fall into old patterns with Paul.  For the first time in a long time Will almost feels human.  “You can make me buy them, but you can’t make me eat them.”

“No.” Paul agrees easily enough.  “However, I’ll know if you’ve let them go bad in your refrigerator when I come by next week.”

Will must make a face because Paul rolls his eyes.  “Honestly, I don’t know why I haven’t come by before.  My flat is a twenty minute walk away. It’s shameful really.”

“Truly.” Will says sagely.

Paul laughs and shoves Will towards the door.  “Well come on then. We have dinner to get and groceries to buy.”

As they walk down the hall they run into a girl Will knows from the history department, she’s a doctoral candidate.  Her name is Molly. She’s juggling a pile of books, a shopping bag and her purse trying to find her keys. Will nearly rolls his eyes when Paul rushes forward to help with her books.

“Easy now.” Paul says kindly.  Molly looks up and her pretty green eyes go wide with surprise.

Molly goes to the symphony, often.  Her favorite instrument is the flute. 

Will should probably intervene before she stutters something embarrassing.  It truly is his fault for not warning her that the London Symphony Orchestra’s principal flautist might stop by at some point because they’re related.

“Good evening, Molly.” Will says cheerfully.  “This is my brother Paul. Paul this is Molly from the History department.  She is a PHD candidate but in a different area of study. She’s also a fan of the Orchestra.”

“Will.” Molly hisses through her teeth.  A blush spreads across her cheeks and Paul grins at him from over her books.

“Her favorite instrument is the flute.”  Will continues feigning to be oblivious. Now Paul is blushing.

“You’re horrible, Will.”  Molly complains. Her quest for her keys forgotten in favor of talking to them.

“Always has been.”  Paul informs Molly helpfully.  “He’s the worst, but the Stanton household loves him anyways.”

“Cheers, Paul.”  Will says good naturedly.

“The department too.”  Molly agrees good naturedly.  “Though God knows why. If it didn’t seem like he could decipher any dead language on the planet, I think we’d have no use for him.”

Her cat chooses that moment to meow loudly at the door.  Demanding that her owner come in and feed her right this moment.  Molly smiles self-consciously. “That’s my cue. It was nice meeting you, Paul.  Will, I’ll see you around.”

She quickly unlocks her door, retrieves her books from Paul, and lets herself into her apartment.  With a final smile and nod she disappears behind the door. 

Paul smiles at Will and nudges his shoulder.  “Well, come on.” He says brightly. “I thought you wanted dinner.”

“I do.” Will says and leads Paul down the hall. 

They’re on the street when Paul speaks again.  “I think she likes you.”

That catches Will off guard.  He’s generally oblivious to that kind of thing, with very few exceptions. There’s been a few men here and there, and a woman or two who have caught his attention, but none of it has ever amounted to anything. 

“I’m fairly certain that was you.”  Will retorts. “You are her favorite flautist and all.”

Paul snorts.  “A fan. Fan-ish adoration is different from love and you know it, Will.  I think she likes you.”

“I hope not.”  Will says deciding that if his brother was going to know, or at least suspect all the truths about him it might as well be everything.  They’re about halfway to the restaurant now. Will can easily retreat if Paul responds badly. “It’d be tough luck for her seeing as women aren’t often my type.”

There’s a long pause that Will for some reason finds more anxiety inducing than the first tough conversation.  He risks a look at Paul out of the corner of his eye as he walks. He breathes out in relief when he sees his brother is smiling.

“So, you do have a type? A mostly, but not always, men type?”  Paul asks. “I’d started to wonder. Has there ever been anyone?”

“There could be someone one now!”  Will retorts cheekily. There’d been a few people, but it never meant anything but a rush of hormones demanding attention. How could it?

Paul shakes his head and keeps walking forward.  There almost at the restaurant now. “You’d have food if there was someone.  But there has been?”

Will hadn’t meant for the conversation to get this detailed, but he felt like he’d promised not to lie to Paul.  Which meant he couldn’t pretend that his string of temporary lovers counted either. That’s not what Paul is asking.

“Yeah, there, was.  Long time ago. Not sure I’ll ever get over it.”  Will admits. “What about you?”

This time Paul replies self deprecatingly.  “Only me and my shiny silver girl. Honestly, I’m okay with that.  We’re happy.”

“Good on you.”  Will agrees as if Paul admitted to having an amazing relationship. 

That conversation gets them to the shop.  It’s a hole in the wall type place. All exposed brick and concrete floor.  The tables and chairs are mismatched and the lighting is just exposed lightbulbs hanging over the tables.  Still the front register is neat, a young girl in a red apron smiles by the counter. Most importantly the smells coming from the kitchen make Will’s stomach grumble with anticipation.

They order and sit before Paul speaks up again.

“There isn’t any way that they could be interested?”  Paul asks picking up the conversation exactly where it was left and Will shakes his head.  There is no way at all. Not after all that happened.

He abandoned Bran on that hillside.  Didn’t even speak to him, just asked to go to Tywyn and never came back.  Never answered a letter. Didn’t come to help when Jane went to live with Bran before leaving abruptly to discover the ancient world.  There was no doubt in Will’s mind that Bran, as he was, could understand. 

They’d kissed once at seventeen.  A year later Bran was clearly in love with Jane, much as Will always knew.  The first person to make Will aware he mostly preferred men may have been Gwion but even then Will’s heart had already belonged to Bran.  It would always be Bran. It was easier to walk away and leave them to live their lives as they chose.

Besides it wasn’t fair to Bran, having made the choice to forget, to stay in his life.  To loom there with expectations and wants that could never be fulfilled.

“No.” Will says definitively.  “It was a long time ago.”

Paul looks thoughtfully at the waitress that brings their food.  As Will digs in he realizes he’s starving and hasn’t eaten since finishing off the cereal this morning.  He’s taken his first big bite of chips when Paul says, “The Welsh kid then.”

Will chokes on his food and has to take a large gulp of his drink.  How did Paul know?

His brother looks far too pleased with himself.  “I always knew there was something there. You would sound so, wistful when you spoke of him.”

“Yeah, well.”  Will shrugs. “Things didn’t turn out so swell there.  So, here I am. An eternal bachelor.”

Paul frowns and takes a bite of the ham wrap he ordered.  “Don’t be dramatic.”

The finish the meal with Paul reporting on the rest of the family.  Stephen says he is settling into civilian life nicely. Paul has his doubts after such a long tour but didn’t want to press him on it.  His wife and kids are just happy to have him home. 

Recently divorced, Max has thrown himself into his art.  He has some big exhibition in London in a couple of months with some other artists.  A collaboration of some sort that Paul insists Will must attend with him. 

He swears Will to secrecy when he gets to Gwen.  “Mom doesn’t know and Gwen hasn’t figured out how to tell her.  Stephen and I are the only ones who do know. She’s already got Steve on her about not keeping it a secret so you stay out of it.

Once Will swears not to tell, Paul informs him that he is going to have a new niece in a few months.  Gwen won’t tell them who the father is, only that he’s out of the picture and good riddance. She’s confident that the job at her marketing firm will support both her and the baby.  Though any Stanton in London is welcome to babysit whenever they please.

Will is surprisingly pleased by the news and thinks if this family thing pans out he might offer to help.  Kids like Old Ones after all, or at least he thinks they do.

Barbara and her girlfriend are fine.  “Which really, Will, how could I be shocked about you liking men when we’d already been through that with her.”

Robin and his wife were doing great.  He and Robin phoned each other every other day.  Paul was going to tell Robin that he’d seen Will and he was okay.  Apparently, Robin had offered to come sit on Will despite his busy schedule as an engineer if he refused to speak to Paul. 

When Paul says he told Will everything he can about Mary that feeling comes back.  The all-encompassing warning of wrong. If something doesn’t point him in the right direction soon he will look for Mary himself.  He won’t have any better way of knowing where to start than his family did. But he’ll have to try something.

And James of course is engaged and happily starting out into the world.  Finally coming out of the phase where he thinks he’s invincible and bigger than life. 

“I always wondered why you seemed to miss that phase.” Paul muses as he takes the last a bite of his wrap.  “It makes much more sense now.”

Will is glad for the update. 

They’ve finished their meal and are headed to the grocery store when Paul decides he has another question.  “So, when do you get off work on Wednesday? I’m thinking we could make this a regular thing. I’ll pick you up from school, like when we were young.”

“I don’t need to be walked home Paul.”  Will grouses.

Paul rolls his eyes.  “You’re supposed to indulge your elders, Will.”

Will smiles and knocks his brother’s shoulder affectionately.  “Well, if you’re finally admitting your age then how can I say no.”

This time Paul’s expression is the timeless look of an older brother barely tolerating being heckled by a younger sibling. “What time, Will?”

Will subsides.  “I’m done with class by ten, so lunch would be nice.”

“See, that was painless. Wasn’t it?” Paul says encouragingly.  As the walk into the shop. Will actually does need a few things so he grabs a basket and leads the way to the vegetable section.

“I’m not actually helpless.”  Will protests, needing to let it be known he’d be okay on his own. He picks a few green things at random. Tosses a bag of potatoes in the basket and moves on to the dairy.

“No, but I want to be here.”  Paul says seriously. “You were out of eggs.”  His brother reminds him as they pass them.

Will picks up a dozen.  When they get to the bread aisle they bicker over which bread is better for sandwiches.  Will maintains that cheap white bread is perfectly suitable, thank you very much. He grabs the bread he wants and they move on.

“You should have some biscuits.”  Paul says thoughtfully. Stopping before a shelf of them.

“I don’t like sweets all that well.”  Will reminds his brother patiently.

“Yes, I’ve had enough birthday liver to last a lifetime.”  Paul agrees. “However, I do enjoy biscuits.”

Grumbling Will accepts the package of biscuits Paul hands him.  “I should make you buy these.” He complains, but places them in the basket.

They also pick up some chicken and cereal before making their way to the register.

The bored teenager managing the register checks them out quickly and before Will knows it he and Paul are headed back to his flat.

“I will leave you to put up your own groceries, Will.”  Paul declares grandly as they near Will’s flat.

“That’s so kind of you, Paul.” Will says as magnanimously as possible.  “Truly.”

“However,” His brother continues holding up a silencing finger.  “I have one last important question.”

Will groans, but gestures for Paul to continue.  He can’t imagine what’s left. His brother is as close to knowing he is an Old One as is safe.  He knows Will is kind of bi and will only love one man. There aren’t any other secrets and that’s terrifying for someone who has had them longer than he hasn’t.

His building is within sight now.  If whatever Paul wants is too bad he can probably at least put it off.

“What were you thinking when you came home?”  His brother asks curiously. “You were deep in thought and your expression was so severe I almost couldn’t tell you were my little brother.”

That was one of the places Will drew a line.  His family would not be caught up in his life as an Old One.  What had happened when The Dark fell had been more than enough.  He couldn’t bear somehow hurting his family as Blodwen Rowlands had hers.

“Research is going poorly.”  Will lied.

Paul scowls.  “You’ve never had an issue doing research in your life.”

They’ve reached Will’s building now.  He’s a little surprised when Paul follows him in.  Until he remembers that his brother left his flute.

“I’m guessing it’s something to do of the other stuff, so I’m just going to ask if you need help.”  Paul continues.

The offer makes Will smile.  His older brother was nothing if not giving.  Still Will refused to involve others, especially family, in this.

Instead of explaining, or even putting Paul off Will says, “I don’t even know yet.  Could be nothing. If I need help you will be the first to know.”

They’ve made it back to the door now.  Come full circle, but Will thinks they may be better for it.

“You must.” Paul says following Will in.  He leans down next to Will’s favorite chair and picks up his flute.

“Well, I’m off.” Paul says somewhat awkwardly while Will sets the shopping bags down in his tiny kitchen.

He comes back out to find Paul standing by the door.  “So, I’ll see you Wednesday?” Paul asks hopefully.

Will nods thoughtfully.  “Of course, and I promise the flat won’t look like a mad professor’s lair then.”

“You always did have a thing for lairs.”  Paul teases. “Coveted Stephen’s long before he moved out.”

“No.” Will says fondly.  “That was just a bad case of hero worship.  Anyways, I shouldn’t keep you.”

As he walks through the door, Paul laughs.  “Oh, I see how it is. Biggest brother is the best brother, is that it?”

Will shrugs and Paul turns in the hall to face him.  “Right now I’m partial to the middle brother.”

Paul snaps his fingers and shakes his head.  “I knew you liked Robin better than me.”

Will grins cheekily and says, “The truth hurts.” Before slowly closing the door.

Right before it clicks shut Paul calls out, “Will.  Wait. One last questions.”

He lets the door fall open again and looks at his brother expectantly. He knows they’ve covered everything and can’t imagine what this is about.

“What do you want for your birthday?” certainly isn’t what he expected to hear.

Rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously Will thinks but he comes up blank.  “This is really enough, Paul.”

Paul’s eyes narrow.  “Guess that means I can get you whatever I want then.” He says ominously before waving bye and going down the stairs.

With an amused sigh Will closes the door and returns to the kitchen to put up his groceries.  He’s not sure how long he can stay with his family. But, maybe Paul is right and he doesn’t need to leave yet.  Especially with whatever is going on with Mary.

That brings him back to the feeling that something is wrong.  If he could contact Merriman he’d ask him. Left to his own devices Will can only wait and see.  If nothing happens he’ll take a leap and see if his concern about Mary running off at the same time this is happening pans out.  Even as he thinks it he knows it’s ridiculous, hopefully.

While he waits, he can at least clean.  Paul was right, it’s a mess in here.

 


	5. Chapter 5

# Simon

## Autumn 1993, London

**[ _ Song for Sienna  _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S7gIt8t_92g) [ by Brian Crain ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S7gIt8t_92g) **

Simon hates the late shift. He does. He would much rather be sleeping in his bed with his sweet gentle wife Tibby than working the night shift at the hospital. It’s not that Simon hates his job, quite the opposite. He just would like to get to the part where he is a general practitioner like his father. 

Where he works regular hours, and comes home to Tibby. Takes her out, or stays home. He wants to spend more time with their friends, with her. He wants more than running out on her just as she comes home from her regularly scheduled work for an eighteen-hour shift.

He knows he needs to be more generous, he’s lucky to have the opportunities he does. It’s just, when it’s a long hard day, like the past few days have been he’s always in a worse mood.

Simon passes by the nurse’s station, hoping to pick up some paperwork to do while it’s quiet. It’s not often quiet on the night shift in the trauma center but tonight it is..

It hadn’t been earlier in the evening. A ninety-eight-year-old man had passed away from a heart attack. It happens in the trauma center. It’s hard for the families, but it’s part of life. Some of the time Simon feels like they’re just doing their best to make people comfortable.

The man’s family had not taken the news well. Not in the traditional grief stricken way. No, the words had barely been out of Dr. Sanders’ mouth before the fighting began. A real fist fight.

Even thinking about it set Simon’s teeth on edge. His jaw aches still from the blow he’d accidentally intercepted when pulling two brothers apart. The fight had been over money and fault, when there was not much of either thing to be had. No fault. No money. Just a lot of misplaced anger.

Simon takes his paperwork and goes to the break room. It’s not a large room but Simon spends any downtime he has here doing paperwork. 

It’s late so there isn’t much staff around. In fact, the staff room is deserted except for his friend Dr. O’Lynn. Who seems to have the same idea he does about paperwork. The dark-haired man has spread out across two of the tables in the staff room. He is squinting at one of his rounded golden glasses.

Simon grabs them both a cup of coffee and makes his way over to his friend.

Dr. Landon O’Lynn is Simon’s temporary supervisor in the Trauma Center. He is also one of Simon’s closest friends, despite his tendency to push Simon to go for a specialization. That’s way too much for Simon. He doesn’t need the prestige, he just wants to help people.

“Is that you Simon Drew?” Landon asks looking up tiredly from his patient files. He looks, not well. There are tired circles under Landon’s brown eyes and weariness in his smile that has to do with more than exhaustion.

“The one and only.” Simon agrees, inserting cheerfulness he doesn’t have the energy for into his tone.

“You have far too much energy, Simon.” Landon complains but he shoves his paperwork over to make room from him.

“Just trying to brighten your day.” Simon says sitting at the place made for him he sets his papers down but doesn’t get started on them immediately. “You look awful. Hard day?”

“Well there was the fight. Then we lost Claire.” Landon says bluntly. The words falling from his mouth like a confession.

The teasing grin slides right off Simon’s face. Claire was an infant with a very unfortunate story. She’d nearly drowned during her bath. There was some question as to how it had happened.

“Couldn’t recover?” Simon asks hesitantly.

Landon nods sadly. “I thought we’d be able to save her but, no luck. She developed pneumonia, and she was so small. They are of course investigating her parents now. It caused yet another a fight in the hall, not pretty.”

“We had one of those too.” Simon says rubbing his sore jaw thoughtfully. All this fighting, hurting others, and using them set off a warning in Simon’s mind. It felt like a sign of some bigger problem Simon had the means to help stop. He just couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Is that where you got the lovely bruise on your jaw then?” Landon asks gesturing to where Simon had just rubbed.

The question makes Simon groan in annoyance. If there is a mark Tibby will worry. She does not like it when patients get violent, but such is the life of a house officer. It’s not as bad as being an orderly can get.

“Tabitha won’t be pleased?” Landon asks astutely.

“No.” Simon says. “She worries. These days it almost seems she has cause to worry.”

“I’ve noticed that too.” Landon says. “People are getting, intense. It is as if there is a full moon.”

“Except there isn’t one.” Simon says having considered reasons for people’s increasingly strange and dark behavior a thousand times. He’d already checked the moon, among other things. If he could just figure out what it all means he would know what to do.

Landon shrugs before turning back to the papers before him. “It happens sometimes. People will calm down and it will be like nothing ever happened. You’ll see.”

For some reason the phrase, ‘like nothing happened’ bothers Simon. It has since he was young. It just feels too close to home. Simon sighs flipping open the folder cover to his own paperwork. 

“Yes, I suppose you are right.” Simon says reluctantly. “You have to be sometime.”

“Nice one.” Landon says with a smile.

They work in silence for a while before Landon closes his folders decisively and stacks them up. “Okay, I’m finished.” He says in a tone of voice that suggests he could probably do a little more work but doesn’t have to.

“Good for you.” Simon says still frowning at his own file about a broken hip. An elderly woman swore up and down that her bed had tossed her out. Trying to keep her from helping The Light this time. Clearly she was senile. Still, there were more reports of odd things like that as well. More patients saying similarly crazy things. Maybe the world was going mad.

“I’ll see you next time.” Landon says waving his stack of completed paperwork in Simon's direction before disappearing into the hall. 

His friend leaving sets Simon to working with renewed vigor. If he can finish in the next hour he won’t have to stay late. He can do his last rounds and go home. Maybe he’ll make breakfast for Tibby. She would enjoy that.

The hour passes in a blur of words and jotting notes down. Signing papers and making requests. When the hour is up he packs up his work and goes to make a final round. 

He checks in on patients. Exchanges pleasantries with the ones who are awake and silently checks vitals of those who are not. Satisfied that everyone is alright he is more than happy to pass things over to the next shift. Leaving his paperwork at the nurse’s station he finally heads home.

Simon takes the train home and spares a thought for Jane. His sister should be in Trewissick by now, visiting the friends they made there as children. If anyone stayed in touch with the people they knew as kids it was Jane. Simon wondered if that is where his sister would settle down, now that it was clear it wouldn’t be in Wales.

It was unfortunate that she and Bran didn’t work out. Simon liked and respected the shepherd. He should write Bran anyways, it’s not like Jane and Bran left each other on unfriendly terms. Simon thought of Bran as something of a brother, it would be great to hear from the Welshman.

Besides they’d already lost Will, Simon didn’t want to lose another member of their odd little friend group. Sure, Will was probably running around London somewhere as his sisters’ last letter from Wales implied. The only reason Simon didn’t worry Will was dead in a ditch is because he knows Bran would know. They’d had some kind of falling out, but Will’s aunt Jen would let Bran know if something happened to Will.

He is grateful to finally reach his stop, even happier to have to concentrate on walking home. It will be dawn soon but the twenty-four-hour convenience store near his house is open.

As he passes by he sees that they’ve a beautiful stand of flowers by the door. He’s not sure what all the flowers in the bouquets are. The flowers are bright, full, and healthy, though. He knows Tibby will love them so he stops in for a second to buy some. It will be a nice surprise for her since he’s certain he will be asleep as soon as he enters the door.

Their house is small. Not that he minds, they don’t need a lot of space. He finds the well-kept space homey. It’s the first place Simon has owned. That simple fact fills him with pride.

He enters his home to the distinct smell of frying bacon. He hadn’t expected Tabitha to be up yet. She’s often the type to run out the door five minutes after she had to leave for work with her hair half done and a piece of toast in her hand.

“Simon, Love, is that you?” Tabitha trills from the kitchen. 

He places his things down by the door and goes to her. Careful to keep the flowers gripped loosely in his hands. He can hear the bacon popping in the kitchen and his stomach reminds him he hasn’t eaten in several hours by growling loudly.

Tabitha meets him in the hall. He only gets a moment to take in her kind smile and mess of dark curls before he finds that she has thrown herself into his arms. His arms wrap around her waist and he returns her enthusiastic kiss with a smile. The flowers are forgotten in his hand.

“I missed you.” She murmurs only pulling far enough away to say the words.

Simon leans back in for one last quick kiss before pulling far away enough that they can talk properly. “Me too.”

She’s watching him now. Taking in the tired circles under his eyes and the tense angle of his shoulders. Her smile turns sympathetic. His face is turned towards shadow so she can’t see the faded blue smudge on his jaw just yet.

“Long day?” She asks gently. Her fingers knead at his shoulders trying to force some of the tension loose. 

“Yes.” He says succinctly. “We lost a patient.” It happens a lot in his current ward but it’s never easier to admit.

Tabitha hums thoughtfully and traces her fingers over his jaw. She sees the light bruise right as he winces. 

“What caused this?” She asks, concern knitting her brow together. If he plays it right, he can earn a kiss for his hardship. He’d rather the conversation end and they have breakfast together before she leaves for work.

“Brothers who don’t know how to use their words.” Simon confirms unhappily.

There must be something in his expression that says he doesn’t want to talk about it because she lets it go. “I’m sorry that happened, Love.” She says gently squeezing his shoulder, and letting her hand fall caressing down his arm and to his hand.

Simon imagines she’s about to invite him to breakfast. Instead her eyes widen as her hand touches the forgotten flowers he’s still holding.

“Simon Drew are these for me?” She asks sounding surprised and very happy.

Suddenly needing to give her the flowers properly he holds them out to here. “I bought you flowers because I missed you.” He says awkwardly, but Tabitha is already delighted with the gift.

“You sweet wonderful man.” She says gleefully taking the flowers from him and kissing him again in thanks. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you.”

“I ask myself the same thing every day, Tibby.” Simon says just as his stomach decides that it has been exposed to the smell of breakfast without eating for quite long enough. His stomach growls loudly making Tabitha laugh.

“I suppose I should feed you.” Tabitha says, mirth still dancing in her deep dark eyes.

“Yes, please and thanks.” Simon says eagerly. Reminding himself of his little brother when he’d hit his growth spurt. Barney had been a bottomless pit always in need of food.

“Then it’s a good thing I was up early.” His wife says fondly. “We have eggs, toast, and bacon if you want it.”

She leads the way to the kitchen. Simon follows her noticing that she’s gotten a few more boxes unpacked. They’d only just moved in.

“Are you expecting a busy day at work today?” He asks as he serves himself a plate of wonderful smelling breakfast. 

Tabitha is a social worker. She helps protect kids and she’s amazing at what she does. Still, she too has been experiencing the weirdness where everything is just a little darker than it should be.

“I expect so.” She says, putting some fruit on his plate. “That’s the way it has been being. We’ve been getting so many reports of children in bad situations.”

She stops verbalizing her train of thought, looking sadly at her plate instead.

Simon reaches out to hold his wife’s hand. “That’s why they have you.”

The sadness fades from Tabitha’s face like the sun peeking out behind a cloud. “I love you.”

He smiles back at his wife feeling all his love for her well up from deep within his heart. “I love you too.”

Her alarm chooses that moment to go off. Reminding her that she must leave for work. 

Simon smiles and sets down his fork. “You have to go?” He asks hopeful that the answer is no. He knows the alarm means she has to go but he was enjoying her company.

“I have to go.” She says getting up and gathering her things. 

By the time she’s ready Simon has gotten all the dishes to the sink. He pulls his wife to him as she starts to head out the door.

“Kiss me goodbye?” He asks and she smiles and obliges him.

“There.” She says when they pull apart. “Now I really have to go. Can you do the dishes and put the flowers in water before you go to bed?”

He agrees and promises to see her in the evening. He’s so glad he has tomorrow off. Perhaps he will make something special for them for dinner.


	6. Chapter 6

# Bran

## Winter 1993, Clwyd

**[ _ Nara  _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8AEU5pBxY6E) [ by E.S. Posthumus ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8AEU5pBxY6E) **

He goes to bed as he often does on the most lonely nights since Jane left. The little blue stone she left after their terrible talk clutched tightly in his hand. 

He’d given the stone to her when they were children. On a cloudless summer day when they had first met and Bran hardly knew what to do with himself in her presence. He had not realized she had kept it all these years.

Who would have known their picturesque meeting would have ended as abruptly as his father’s brief time with his mother? He could never decide if he preferred the fact that Jane stayed long enough to say goodbye.

Not that it was much of a discussion. No shocking secrets or reasons for leaving. No secrets to never be uncovered. Just simple truths.

“You were meant for more than sheep.” She had said. She was meant for more than sheep and she was going to find her destiny. School for her PhD at Cambridge, and she wouldn’t be with him long distance this time. Ultimately he can imagine her being happy using that archeology degree, much like her Great Uncle he only vaguely recalled. 

It’s been three years. Sometimes he feels ready to move on. Sometimes he still doesn’t want to think about it.

He grips the stone tighter and falls into a deep sleep. He does not notice that the stone grows warm just as the Corona Borealis peeks over the horizon.

In his dream he is with Will. They walk down a long dark stone stairway. Will is leading, a steadfast voice of confidence and calm. In his dream, Will is eleven and stout. Plain round face unreadable in the dark. Bran is scared but he knows beyond all else that he trusts Will. He must trust Will.

It’s been ten years since Bran last saw Will Stanton. They’d been eighteen. Late enough for Bran to know that Will is now tall and slim, like his oldest brother. Though the plainness never left his features. Not an unattractive plainness, but those were the kinds of thoughts that got Bran into trouble in the first place.

“Bran, if you put your hands out-” Will starts to say and Bran knows with unerring memory that this is not some strange dream but a past reality. Even though he has been here before he cannot say what will come next.

Still it feels right as he replies “I’ve found them, like banisters, aren’t they?” It’s neat, the groves that were placed in the wall to provide balance. “Bright idea of somebody’s, that.”

“Go carefully.” Will seemed to reply. Though perhaps not to Bran’s nervous chatter. “I may stop in a hurry.”

A moment later they did stop. Will, speaking in a strange language that Bran did not understand, parted the rock before them. Suddenly they were on a mountain top in a kind of open room. The night sky spread out like a tapestry above their heads. As Bran makes a wish the stars spin overhead, a comet speeds across the light dotted dark canvas. Then the stars fall one right after another until the sky blanks out altogether into oppressive dark. 

Returned to the tunnel they had been in they make their way forward. Gradually the staircase grows lighter. Will raises his arm and Bran feels he has warded off some great threat, or perhaps passed a test.

They enter a bright room. There are torches along the wall, but the room is truly lit by the roaring fire in the center. It is smokeless and blindingly bright to Bran’s sensitive eyes. There are three empty thrones on the other end of the hall. The thrones have two wooden chests between them. One open and empty, the other fastened shut.

Standing next to the fire is a cloaked figure. He is warming his hands. Though the hood of the violet colored garment shields the face Bran can see that the man has a sword buckled to his hip.

Though he won’t remember it when he wakes, Bran knows this isn’t right. He turns to Will in alarm but his friend is gone.

“The Old One need not be here, little brother.” The figure says in a deep smooth voice. His accent is wrong. As if he is reading from one of the old books Will used to carry around. The ones that were always inordinately obsessed with woad. “This is a matter of High Magic. He would only alert his kin to that which is not their business in the first place.”

Bran wants to defend Will but something in him knows it is true. He doesn’t know how he knows that, though. He certainly has no idea what the other man is speaking of. All this talk of magic and Old Ones is odd.

“I do not have a brother.” Bran finds himself saying instead.

This makes the man pause and finally turn towards him. What Bran sees makes his blood run cold. It’s not that the man resembles Bran. It is not arrogance to say that nobody looks like Bran, with his unnaturally pale skin and tawny eyes. Bran knows this.

Still there is something in the shape of the other’s face, in the haughty arch of his brow, that is familiar. Something Bran is afraid to admit he sees every time he looks in a mirror.

“Yes, of course.” The man says sadly. “The Old Ones took your memories from you.”

“What memories?” Bran asks. It is the oddest conversation Bran has ever had in a dream and he has half a mind to try to force himself awake. There’s something though, about this place and this man that is important. 

The man smiles at that. His careworn features brightening. Bran thinks it is supposed to seem friendly but all he feels is growing dread. “I can show you.” He offers brightly. “All I need is a promise that you will not hinder me in what I have come to do. We can mark it by breaking bread together.”

Where there wasn’t one before a table appears. Heavily laden with all manner of foods. Eggs, ham, bacon, and indeed bread that looks so appetizing it sets his mouth watering. 

Something in Bran screams warning. There is great danger and what he needs to do is go to Will.

“Thank you.” Bran says careful to keep his voice steady. “But I must tend to the sheep.” He knows, as you often do in dreams, that if he leaves the way he came he will wake and this time he will not forget the dream. 

He regrets that he will not understand. Will not know what caused him to remember in the first place. His instincts tell him Will can help, if he can find Will.

Swift as a fox going for a sheep the man blocks Bran’s path. “I think you do not understand, little brother.” He growls, low and menacing. Hand resting threateningly on the hilt of his sword. “You have something of mine and you will give it to me by giving your word that you will not hinder me.”

“No.” Bran growls, surprised at his own vehemence. “The Dark will never win.”

He doesn’t know where the words come from but they bring back a rush of memories. Confusing in their suddenness and his inability to place them. All at once he knows this dream is not a dream but very real. That this man who claims to be his brother may very well be. That he is a danger to more than just Bran.

The man swings then. His sword unsheathed from nowhere. It arches straight for Bran’s torso. Only years of running up mountains allows Bran the agility to dance away in time.

“Foolish, to rank me with the Dark. I am much worse.” Mordred mocks as Bran scrambles away. “No matter then, we shall do this the hard way!”

His so-called brother follows. A terrifying manic gleam in his eyes. If Bran’s memories are actual memories things were a lot less violent at the defeat of the Dark when he was a child. 

As Bran skitters back away from the man he remembers a comforting warm voice saying. “You must open the chest at my right, and take out what you will find there. The other will remain sealed, in case of need, until another time that I hope may never come.”

Bran knows that that time is now. As his self-ascribed half-brother swings for him again Bran dodges towards the thrones. Shoving one between him and his maniac relative. He throws the lid to the closed chest open and pulls forth a shield. 

It’s round, metal, curved outward in the center. That’s the only looking Bran can afford to do before he must hold it up above his head in self-defense. 

The resulting blow rings in Brans ears like a thousand bells, joyous and sad. There’s the terrible wrenching roar of water pouring in.

Gasping awake Bran sits in his bed. The warm quilt is trapping his legs as the shield had when it fell from the force of the blow. He breaths in the crisp morning air and sighs.

He’s in his cottage at Clywd. His childhood home sits out of one window and Cader Idris rises into the mist from the other. On the slopes, from the corner of his eyes, he thinks he sees the figure of a rider. Startling, but unthreatening as the mountains themselves. For a moment, he feels called.

When he looks properly the figure is gone.

Somehow Bran knows the dream was more than it seemed. He will have to do something about it soon. For now, morning has come and it is time for breakfast with his Da and John Rowlands before work begins.

The dream echos in his mind. Sticking in place like an unwanted song instead of fading to leave him to his day.

It only takes a moment to prepare for the day. To dress in the black sweatshirt and jeans Jenny would always roll her eyes at. She never did want to understand the joke. 

With a soft “Haf, tyr da ma.” called to his dog Bran walks next door.

Haf, ever the loyal sheep dog follows him out. Ears pricked and tongue lolling in eager anticipation for the day. 

His mood is slowly coming to match Haf’s. The dread of his dream fading and an odd kind of anticipation taking its place. It’s not that he doesn’t see the danger. It just can’t match the rightness choosing to stand in its way brings.

Coming to the front door of Owen’s home is familiar. The latch turns just as it has for twenty-eight years. With a gentle push, he enters the humble living space. The smell of coffee and eggs fills the room.

Owen Davies is a man of steel gray hair, few words, and even less emotion. So, it is even more alarming when he takes one look at Bran frowns and says in Welsh, “Best come in and tell me about it boyo.”

“How did you know?” Bran asks taken aback.

“I’ve seen that look on your face twice before.” Owen says plainly. “Once when we lost Cadfal and a few years past when your Jenny left. So, speak. What troubles you now?”

How does one explain that the dream he just had was in fact reality without sounding like a mad man? Perhaps he is mad. The pieces of this strange frazzled puzzle are confused enough that he can believe it. Though he remembers, he knows he does not remember it all. At least not correctly.

Instead of answering at first Bran goes deeper into the kitchen. Stiffly he pulls out the table chair he has always sat in and sits heavily.

Owen waits for Bran to gather his words. It takes a long time.

“If I told you I had forgotten something important, something life altering. If I told you I forgot it and have only just remembered, would you think me mad?”

Bran can’t look at his father as he speaks. His hands lie clasped on the worn wood of the kitchen table. As if the simple gesture can keep everything from going terribly horribly wrong.

There is the scrape of aged wood against stone as Owen pulls a chair next to his son. He leans forward so he is in Bran’s line of vision.

His father’s age lined face is serious and concerned, but not judgmental. Bran feels the whisper of relief, the tentative hope that things can be okay.

“Were any other man to say this to me I would think he had spent the night on Cader Idris and returned a mad man. Coming from you, Bran, I know it to be true.”

Bran closes his eyes. He’s about to ask his father what to do when John Rowlands comes through the door. 

“Sheep to move and fences to check.” He says jovially. “Which do you want Bran boy?”

“I would prefer the sheep.” His father says just as easily. As if he’d never worried for Bran at all. “Besides it would allow Bran time to visit Tywyn. It is not good for a young man of his age to spend all of his time on a farm.”

Bran almost argues, but as John turns to pour himself some coffee he finds himself on the receiving end of a significant look. Apparently, his father wants him to go up Cader, for some reason?

His father turns to address him directly. “You will of course need to take the Land Rover. While you’re by the main house ask Mrs. Evans if she needs anything. Save her a trip into town.”

There it is Bran thinks smiling at his father. It’s not heading up the mountain that matters. His father wants him to have the chance to discreetly ask after Will. That is what his instincts have been screaming for him to do since he woke up. He just hopes Will is willing to see him.

After a hearty breakfast of eggs, toast and bacon Bran heads up the mountain to check the fencing. He leaves Haf with his father and John. She will be happy to help with sheep and only get under foot with the fences.

The lands of David Evans are beautiful as ever. The mountains are Bran’s home more than anywhere else could hope to be.

The Breath of the Grey King is overhead. Bran now remembers there is no threat. The Grey Kings malice had been driven from these lands as long as Bran calls them home.

He is glad that today’s mending will be quick work. Oddly enough he’ll be working right along the path he had originally met Will on. When Cadfal had forced the lost Dewin onto Cadfan’s Way.

He misses Will. If he has any regrets, it’s not running after him that day on the mountain. The day he caught Jane kissing Bran. After a drunken night of kissing Will the previous summer. It’s not that he regretted loving Jane. He still loves Jane. It’s just he missed his friend and now that he needs him it is waking the old hurt. He doesn’t know if he will get Will the Old One. Only in it to fight the Dark or if he can somehow recover Will the friend. Bran fears that opportunity may be long dead.

A horse snorts higher up the slope snapping Bran’s attention from the steep slope he’d been climbing. The horse is white and familiar. A gorgeous example of equine grace but it’s her rider standing next that is unmistakable. As original as Bran himself.

He is wild and unfamiliar. The face of a man, the head of a stag and wolf like ears hidden by large branching antlers. A being that oozes strength and magic, wild as the mountains. His eyes are tawny, owl-like. Just like Bran’s. 

The being pulls at the mess of newly reclaimed memories insistently. They stand waiting for a few endless moments before understanding clicks into place through the hazy fog of memory. Bran kneels.

The action feels like a sigh to release tension. While there is no telling what the coming days will bring, this moment is safe.

A hand rests heavily on his shoulder. The heavy weight of what is to happen in the coming months, but it is also a comfort.

“I do not have long, my son.” Arthur says soothingly. “The door will close soon. I already risk much speaking to you in this form, but Herne has no voice.”

Arthur squeezes his shoulder and Bran looks up. His eyes are once again blue. Framed by a face much less tired than it was before the Light’s great victory.

“Have you come to take my mind from me again?” The words slip past Bran’s lips before he can think to stop them.

Arthur’s eyes turn sad. “No, son. I would never take that which was freely given. As the memory stone was given and returned to your hands to awaken your memories at the required time.”

“Then, why?” Bran asks. Why is Arthur here? Why was everything taken from him at all if it would be needed a mere eighteen years later?

His birth father smiles and pulls him to his feet. “You needed to grow.” Arthur says answering his unspoken questions. “But now, I will trust this fight to you my son. Though you are by your own choice mortal and must find your own way to command the High Magic as I had to long ago. It is my right as a father to leave you a gift.”

The great king unclasps a dagger from his belt and gives it to Bran. “First I give you Carnwennan, that you may defend yourself and those you love.” 

Bran stares at the dagger in his hands in wonder. If Barnabas Drew and his obsession with Bran’s father’s myth were to be believed this dagger could hide the user in shadow. Bran had the brief childish urge to test it out immediately.

Arthur smiles at his son as if knowing his thoughts. “You must learn the weapon for yourself, my son. Second I offer only a word of advice. Go to the Old One and tell him of your dream. He will be able to unravel the defense the Light left behind should the Dark foolishly rise again. And in that unraveling your path forward will become clear.”

As he finished speaking the figure of Arthur faded as if a door was closed upon him. Only Herne remained looking at him with imperious command.

Bran nodded his head in acknowledgement. Herne simply returned the gesture mounted his steed and faded away as he rode into the distance. 

It takes him a moment to shake off the magic of the meeting. Looking up the mountain Bran sees the long line of fence that he had been sent to fix. It had fallen in the last ice storm. Rhys has already dropped off the tools and materials he will need on the way to another part of the farm. All Bran needs to do is get the thing mended and he can pay Jen Evans a visit.

He’s already re-planted the old posts and hung the top wire when Rhys joins him. The older man had taken over the daily running of the farm a few years back. David Evans still did what he could, but as he aged it wasn’t as much as it used to be. 

They also had the help of Rhys young wife who had been raising sheep all her life. She didn’t tolerate any idea that women could not do the hard farm work just as well as men either. Bran wouldn’t be a bit surprised if Seren were helping his father and John Rowlands herd the sheep.

Rhys seems distracted when he says, “Do you need some help placing the rest of the wire.”

“Yes, thanks.” Bran says gesturing for Rhys to help. 

Once they have found the rhythm of working together Bran asks, “Will Mrs. Evans be home when we are done here? I am going into town and wanted to ask if she needed anything.”

“That’s kind.” Rhys says while checking that his line of wire is tight before tying it off. “I think she’s appreciate the visit. She’s just got a rather upsetting letter from Alice Stanton. Two of her children won’t be home for Christmas, and with no good reason for why. It will make mom happy to see all of hers are accounted for.”

Bran blushes at that. He knew the Evan’s considered him family but it generally wasn’t put quite so plainly. “I’ll be sure to stop in then. Do you mind me asking which two?”

“Now that’s the strange part isn’t it.” Rhys says slowly. “It was the two we’ve had here, Mary and Will.”

For some reason Bran isn’t surprised. By Mary maybe, but not by Will. “You don’t say.”

“You and Will were friends, weren’t you?” Rhys says absentmindedly. No one on the farm knew why Bran’s and Will’s friendship ended. They only knew that when Will left the last time he never came back.

“We were.” Bran agrees. “Unfortunate, that he left like that.”

Rhys shakes his head. “Mom thinks something must being going on at the university for him to refuse to come home like that. He is studying, well, something.”

Bran makes a non-committal noise and focuses on his work. Will withdrawing from his family was not a good thing. For the first time since this adventure started Bran felt concern for his friend. Was Will withdrawing because of the demands of the Light?

They only have a few more lines to run when Rhys speaks again. “We are nearly done here, Bran. Why don’t you head on down to the main house and to town? I can finish this up and you won’t have to drive back in the dark.”

If Bran didn’t have some things he had to do he’d decline. But learning that Will was withdrawing from his family just made his mission to find the silly wizard more urgent. Instead of arguing Bran replies, “Yes, that would be lovely thank you. Will you and Seren be needing anything?”

Rhys smiles. “No, I think we are alright. Now get on with you. My mum will never let me hear the end of it if you drive off the mountain because I kept you too late.”

Bran sniffs arrogantly at that. Careful to keep the grin he feels from taking over his face. “I am a much better driver than that and you know it. How many tires had you destroyed by my age?”

Rhys laughs and waves him away. “Get on then. Get on!”

Turning his back on Rhys, Bran picks his way down the mountain side. Deep in thought about his dream, the odd meeting with his birth father, and the news Rhy’s brought about Will and his sister. He walks past his cottage and on to the main house.

David Evans is working in the barn when Bran passes it. It is a tall wood building housing all the farm equipment and occasionally a few of the sheep. One of these day’s Bran intends to paint it again. It’s once white walls have weathered to the depressing grey of unprotected wood.

“Hullo, Bran.” The older farmer calls out. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today. Looking for me or Jen?”

“Yes, Mr. Evans.” Bran replies redirecting his course to the barn. “I am headed to Tywyn and wanted to know if Mrs. Evans needed anything.”

David nods understandingly. “That is good of you, Bran. You’ve always been so helpful to us on Clwyd. I for one appreciate it. Jen will appreciate you checking in on her too. I do not know if you have heard, but she received an upsetting letter from her sister in Buckinghamshire. Two of her brood aren’t coming home for Christmas with no good explanation as to why.”

“Yes, Rhys was just telling me.” Bran says. “It is strange. I wish I were still in contact with Will so I could ask him what was going on.”

“Perhaps you can write him.” David suggest amicably. “I am sure Jen has his address tucked away somewhere. I know you stopped talking as boys, but I am sure he would still like to hear from you.”

It is a good thought. An address, even if it is a previous one would get Bran started at least. He suspects that once he leaves he’ll find his way to the Old One whether he wants to be found or not.

Still, an address would help immensely.

“Yes.” Bran agrees readily. “That is a fantastic idea. I think I will ask her now.”

“Good man.” David agrees and turns back to the piece of equipment he was fixing.  
Knowing that he is done here Bran goes back towards the main house. He finds Jen Evans making stew in the kitchen.

It is the heart of the Evans home. The room humble, warm, and always full of life. Where the whole farm gathers on weekend nights to enjoy a large home cooked meal.

“Your cooking smells amazing as always, Mrs. Evans.” Bran says softly to not startle her.

Laying her stirring spoon down Jen Evans turns toward him, a kind smile brightening her kind face.

“Bran.” She says pleased to see him. “I was not expecting to see you until tomorrow night for supper.”

“Yes, and that’s when you would have seen me.” Bran agrees heartily. Mischievously stepping forward to peek at what was cooking. “But I am running errands in Tywyn today and wanted to know if I could pick anything up for you.”

“Now that’s kind.” She says with a smile. “If you are willing you could pick up some self-rising flour. I was going to send Alice Stanton some Bara Brith, the poor thing.”

“Of course I am willing. I heard about Mary and Will.” Bran says careful to sound the proper amount of sorrowful and displeased that an old friend could do such a thing. “I’m of a mind to write Will myself, only I don’t have his address.”

That earned a concerned frown. “I always thought you two had a falling out of some sort.”

Bran shrugs. “Nothing so dramatic. We simply fell out of touch. If I wrote it’d be as a concerned friend. Avoiding family like that says to me that something isn’t right.”

Jen nods thoughtfully. “I do have Will’s last Christmas card.” She says thoughtfully. “Perhaps that will help.”

“I am sure it would.” Bran says gratefully.

“Then you sit right there and get yourself a cup of tea.” Jen says gesturing him towards the kettle. “I will search the files. It should only take a moment.”

Bran pours himself a cup of tea as instructed but wonders toward the more formal sitting room. It’s a lovely room. Full of family furniture and knickknacks, but it is rarely used.

He quickly finds himself abandoning the tea in favor of playing the harp. For a long moment he sits before the harp, hands resting on the sun warmed wood. Then after a few deep breaths he pulls the harp to him and plays.

His first few notes are just aimless plucks on the strings. He quickly finds himself falling into the familiar cords of Greensleves. It’s a song that always reminds him of Will.

For a short while he becomes lost in the music. So much so that he does not here Jen Evans enter the room. A garish red and green card clutched in her hand. 

“Lovely as always, Bran.” Jen praises when the final note fades. “I’ve found the card. You can read it. It might give you something to talk to him about. So, you aren’t only writing to lecture him about Christmas.”

“He deserves it.” Bran grumbles while returning the harp to its upright position and accepting the card.

“He’s teaching paleography in London.” Jen says even as Bran reads the words. “He was always such a smart boy.”

Bran reads the card and says, “Study of ancient language? I can see that.” He truly could. As an Old One the study of that which has passed would be so easy for Will.

As he studied the card and the address that was in London a plan began to form. There was risk to comforting Will at his home. It would be too easy for the Old One to walk away or take the memories again before Bran could explain. Being merely mortal Bran would be powerless to stop him.

However, if they had an audience Will wouldn’t dare use his magic. He’d want to wait till they were in private. But Bran had the fact that very few people outside of Wales knew Welsh on his side. He could tell Will whatever he wanted anywhere he wanted and no one would understand. 

It would be best to go to the history department at Kings College where he could find one William Stanton. Now that he had a way to find him he just needed to come up with an excuse for leaving the farm.

“That’s quite a bit of thinking you are doing.” Jen Evans says interrupting his thoughts.

Bran shakes himself. “Oh, yes. Sorry.” He demurs. “I was just thinking about what I would write to Will. There’s so much catching up to do.”

It was the correct thing to say. She smiles at him with satisfaction and says, “Well for now you can get on to Tywyn. Unless you want to be driving home in the dark?”

Bran smiles and shakes his head. “No, you are right. I should get going. I will return with the, was it self-rising flour?”

“If you please.” Jen says. “I’ll see to it that there is some dinner in it for you.” It’s a statement. He knows Jen worries about him feeding himself without Jane. He’s gotten on just fine though. Still one does not turn down Jen Evans’ home cooking.

“Then I will see you in a few hours.” Bran promises taking his leave.

His reason for going to London must be air tight. He himself has too many concerned eyes on him. If he starts acting suspiciously people will wonder. Perhaps he can visit Barnabas Drew while he is in town. 

Barney had contacted him after Jane left. Saying that he still wanted to be friends, if Bran was willing. And well, Barney was a good young man. It was not a hardship to maintain the friendship. Visiting him would provide the perfect excuse to track down Will

Getting into the Land Rover Bran felt a smile over take his face. It was true he was scared stiff with things happening once again. Still, he also couldn’t help but anticipate the coming adventure. It almost felt as if things were going to be right for the first time in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap! For now... Check back in around Christmas for Part 2: Gathering. And let me know what you think of Part 1. Thanks for reading!


End file.
